Diversion
by treacle-antlers
Summary: When Spike returns to Sunnydale resouled and mortal, Buffy must decide if a relationship with him is now possible, while the Scoobies all have their own issues to deal with regarding the exvampire.
1. Diversion (Buffy, Spike)

DIVERSION  
  
She hadn't meant to take this route.  
  
Her mind must have wandered for a second, it often happened like that these days. The patrol had become more than just routine of late, it had become a ritual. The wide arc around the perimeter of the west-side, the short cut through the alley opposite Willy's, double-back up main street past the coffee shop and then the cemetery, always finishing with the cemetery. Old habits died hard, unlike most of the vamps she met these days. Being at the top of her game was getting to be such a drag. Sometimes she thought she'd give her left arm for a challenge, something that could test her. Well, maybe not her left arm, a toe perhaps. A pinkie toe. Hearing a rustle in the bushes she was on her toes in a second, twisting through the air, stake already in her hand, poised for action.  
  
Awww. Just a pussy cat.  
  
Sighing she pocketed Mr Pointy. Yeah, she needed some action, that or a long holiday somewhere that smelled of coconuts and unfortunately the latter was pretty much out of the question. Take a portion of Doublemeat wages, throw in a pinch of Dawn, schoolbooks and new shoes a plenty and combine with a hefty dose of lifelong obligation and you got one big, boring cake that no one wanted a piece of. That was to say - her whole existence. She sighed again. Her life sucked and a reminder of just how much was all she needed right now and yet here she was again. In front of Spike's crypt. Her shoulders slumped a little.  
  
It wasn't as if she missed him.  
  
She didn't miss him.  
  
But God, sometimes...she really missed him.  
  
Her hand went out almost involuntarily to the door, touched the wood. She closed her eyes remembering how many nights used to end this way. A whole evening spent prowling the streets of Sunnydale, rousting the undead, making with the staking, always putting off the inevitable. Pushing it to the back of her mind, think of something else, anything else but him. Until, 'hey presto!' or 'kahboom'! She was never sure how she'd got there, but there was where she would be. One hand on his door, hating herself, hating him more for making her weak. For making her want him.  
  
She cast her mind back to the first night, that night, the night he had told her she was 'wrong'. When she had taken out every bit of rage, all the pain she had been unable to express since they had brought her back. She had felt it boiling inside her as he had taunted her, asking her to give it to him, to take it out on him and as she had thrown that first punch, watched him stagger back, the relief had been indescribable. Staking vamps was one thing but hitting Spike, punching Spike? While she listened to him say all the things about her that she had thought about herself, it was as if he could read her mind. She heard herself denying it all, denying him the satisfaction of hurting her but all the time the feeling had been growing. He was right. She could feel that he was right and it felt good to accept it, just as it had felt good when Faith had told her the same thing. She was a killer.  
  
It was so simple, because it was the truth. Her heart had felt like it was going to burst wide open as she had thrown him back against that wall, found his mouth with hers, suddenly wanting something from him that she had never even contemplated before that night. She had felt closer to him at that moment than to anyone, before or since. The one time with Angel, that had been intense, beautiful, a perfect expression of their love and trust in each other. But with Spike....her skin crept cold at the memory. She had felt a freedom that she had never felt before. She knew that she could reveal herself completely to him. Every pore, every blemish, every mean thought, everything she had ever felt ashamed of, disgusted with about herself, none of that mattered to him. His love was all encompassing and she couldn't seem to get enough of it.  
  
Pushing the door inwards with one hand she stepped inside. She knew what she would find, had been here ten, twenty times before since he had left and yet it always came as a shock to her. The complete absence of any trace of him. No furniture, no TV, even the candles had all burnt down to nothing, everything covered with a thin film of dust. So cold. No wonder Clem hadn't been able to stand it for long. She was glad in a way. It had become embarrassing, the friendly way he had always greeted her when he found her on his doorstep. Even offering to share his hot wings with her, let her sit down for a chat. He knew she was hurting and thought company would help, tea, maybe a game of 'Risk'? When all the time they both knew. What was wrong with her couldn't be fixed by anything else.  
  
She sat down on the stone plinth and drew her legs up, hugging her knees for warmth. It had never been this cold before, when he was here. Maybe the candles had warned things up. It wasn't his body that was for certain. She remembered the feel of him, stretched cool, full-length against her back, his leg through hers, feet touching, his mouth against her neck.  
  
"What are you thinking about?"  
  
and her glib reply,  
  
"That you should think about socks."  
  
Had they ever really talked? It seemed like everything that needed to be said they said in other ways, physically, with touches, with small sounds, noises in the backs of their throats. With the wordless locking of their eyes as he lay over her, her face inches from her own, their breathing ragged. There was nothing she could add to that. He knew everything already, although she had tried to deny it a thousand times. That evening he had caught her off guard;  
  
"Do you even like me?"  
  
she had felt compelled to answer truthfully for the first time, but couldn't. All she could manage was the luke-warm,  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
It wasn't what she had wanted to say but it scared her so much when he got that way. His face wiped clean of everything but his love for her, his need, making him completely human to her for just a second. She was afraid that, if he knew that, he would use it against her. Somehow trick her into forgetting what he really was. A monster. An evil, dead thing. Not a man, not something worthy of love. But his face.  
  
Sometimes when he had been sleeping she'd found herself lying awake, just staring at him. How could it be that something so beautiful could be so...wrong. He looked like an angel when he slept and she had wondered what would happen if he were to wake up and see her looking at him that way? Would he laugh? Would he feel he'd won because he had made her care for him. Maybe that was his plan all along? He had killed two slayers, maybe this was just a new method. Convoluted that was true, but just as effective. He was killing her from the inside instead of the out.  
  
But deep down she knew this wasn't the truth. He loved her. He had proved it time and time again and after a while she had come to rely on it. One of her only two constants, Dawn's love and his. She knew why her sister loved her, lord knows she didn't have a choice in the matter, but she could never understand why he did. She had even asked him once. One night after she had come looking for him, feeling so completely alone, and found him lying fully-clothed, on the bed downstairs. He had been reading and for a moment she had stood there in the doorway, watching him, thinking how it odd it was that he had not sensed her enter. His head was resting on his hand as he turned the pages and when he finally spoke, his voice soft but filled with an undercurrent of laughter.  
  
"If you want to put the kettle on love, I'll be done in a minute."  
  
She had flushed, disconcerted at being caught in a stare,  
  
"I was just wondering what you were reading. Maybe 'Guide to Slaughter'? Or 'Brain Surgery for Beginners'?"  
  
He snorted and put the paperback down, after carefully marking his page. Feeling in his top pocket, his took out a cigarette, lit it, appraised her with one eye.  
  
"So, what?" his tone was still gentle, sensing her vulnerability, "You just came to look? Or are you buying?"  
  
She felt a stab of irritation. Why was he always so full of himself? But almost as quickly as it came her anger had faded, to be replaced by a familiar void.  
  
"Tell me why you love me."  
  
The words had tumbled out before she had a chance to edit them, make them sound less needy. The look on his face made her head hurt, naked emotion.  
  
"You know why."  
  
She shook her head to hide the threatened tears, allowed him to take her arms, lift her face to his. That look again, she couldn't bear it.  
  
"What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing. I just feel...I was lonely."  
  
That had been true at least and even though she knew it wasn't enough for him she felt his grip on her soften, his arms slide round her waist, his lips find hers. Her fingers fumbled the buttons on his shirt as he kissed her, and then hands felt cool flesh, palms rested against his chest. One of his found the small of her back, pulled her into him and then backwards onto the bed. They came apart, gasping, his eyes searching hers.  
  
"I know you. That's why."  
  
So simple. How was it he always knew everything, could see right through you, know just where it hurt. Came with the territory she supposed, you had to know how to hurt if you wanted to cause pain, to kill.  
  
And then that night in the bathroom came back to her again, suddenly and with the cold clarity of a nightmare. His face as he had pushed her down had told her everything she ever needed to know about pain. Even as she had fought him off the misery had far out rode the fear and anger she felt. That he could do that, that he could turn what they had together into something so hideous, that had hurt more than the bruises. What was it her mother and Willow had said, "Spike, he's so...twisted", and she had forgotten that. Allowed herself to be fooled into thinking that he had changed.  
  
Her heart felt like lead in her chest, he had seemed so sincere. That night she had come to him wanting an answer, she had let herself start to consider it, that what he said he felt might be real, that his love for her had altered him somehow. She knew the danger of it, of letting her guard drop but she had wanted so badly to believe it and when he threw her down that night, part of her was saying 'I told you so' . But, his face. She couldn't forget his face.  
  
Three years ago, if he had hurt her, made her cry, she could picture the expression of triumph, the joy he had felt in her suffering. After he had attacked her, when he had come so close to...all she could remember seeing there was anguish and try as she might, she couldn't forget it. Long after the bruises had disappeared and after everything else was over, she still couldn't resolve it in her mind. If he really was evil, if he hadn't changed, why had he been so sorry? He had tried to say it but she had cut him down. He had never meant to hurt her.  
  
She picked up one of the candles from the windowsill. And where was he now? Clem had intimated that he might be back, that he had just taken some time to clear his head or something, but four months now and still nothing. Every vamp in Sunnydale had been here and the place had been picked clean, there was nothing left of him. She turned and walked to the trap door, lifted it and smelt the faint acrid smell rising up from downstairs. Mould mixed with cordite and fried bugs. She let the hatch drop back, letting her breath out again slowly and then, she held it.  
  
She had almost forgotten what it felt like. The slow rise of the short hairs on the back of her neck, the dry mouth, but suddenly it was there like an old friend and she felt her heart double-beat. Although her feet hadn't moved she knew the door had opened behind her and letting the candle slip from her hand to the floor, she tilted her head to the side.  
  
"Long time no see." she said quietly.  
  
She saw him relax a little, rest his weight against the door frame. Still he didn't speak. His face was hidden in the shadows and she noted with a stir of surprise that something was different about him. Was it the coat, the absence of the coat? His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of a leather jacket, his signature boots replaced with what looked like, were those trainers? Her brow creased a little in confusion. Was he going to speak? Ever again? Perhaps he was waiting for her to say something else. She scuffed a toe in the dust at her feet. Like what. Glad to see you're not...what? More dead? Sorry about your TV? The words came to her unbidden and were out of her mouth again just like before.  
  
"I missed you."  
  
She saw him shift slightly, draw himself a little more upright. He exhaled, his breath a white cloud in the chill of the crypt. Slowly he stepped down towards her, into the light.  
  
"Missed you too." 


	2. One Breath (Buffy, Spike)

DIVERSION  
  
PART 2:  
  
It seemed they'd stood like that for an hour, although she knew in reality it couldn't be more than a minute. She wanted to see his face, needed to know what he was thinking, but that would mean moving nearer to him and she couldn't do that yet.  
  
This was getting ridiculous. She tossed her hair back in exasperation,  
  
"So what? You going to quiet me to death?"  
  
She thought she saw something, a change of expression, it was hard to tell when he was so completely hidden in shadow. Why didn't he DO something? Every inch of her was tense, ready for whatever he might throw at her, verbal or physical. Even so she was still unprepared for the sudden awkward move forward, the abrupt clearing of the throat.  
  
"Sorry...sorry. It's just...it's been a while. I'd forgotten..."  
  
He stopped as he realised that she could see his face now. It too looked different, the angles a little softer, his eyes a little bluer, if that were possible, and above his face...what had possessed him to do that?  
  
"Your hair!"  
  
She could barely keep the surprise and dismay out of her voice, realised it made her sound like Cordelia, shallow; like 'you're wearing THAT?'. He was smiling now, a little ruefully, passing his fingers through it with a sort of bemused expression.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah. The bleach, it was getting a bit...eighties you know. Plus, you've no idea how hard it is to find that stuff in the middle of the Namibian desert. That and the nail polish remover..."  
  
He registered the surprise on her face and the smile faded, to be replaced by something else, a look bordering on contrition. She felt him trying to read her, to understand what was going through her mind. Was she still angry with him? Hurt? Did she still want to kill him? Or was it worse, did she feel nothing. Bored maybe? She frowned, shook her head a little.  
  
"A....ha."  
  
And he was moving towards her now, slow, hesitant. So unSpike.  
  
"Buffy,"  
  
he spoke her name rustily, as if the syllables hadn't passed his lips in years. She found herself unable to look at him, afraid of what she might see, what it might make her feel.  
  
"I needed to go, I had to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. The way I was feeling," he faltered, "what I did to you..."  
  
his voice died away to a whisper and she risked a glance at him. His head was bowed now, the sight of the dark curls on his neck seeming so alien and yet still strangely familiar to her. She felt a stab of anger at herself, what was this? Did she feel sorry for him? Yeah, that's right - pity the poor animal who tried to rape her. Held her down, ignored her pleas to stop. But there was something there. Something other than the pain and the distrust and she let herself feel it.  
  
It was good to see him.  
  
She felt strange, standing here with him. She wondered what she would say if Xander walked in, right at this exact moment. She doubted that any of her friends would ever forgive his actions. They would understand them - but the fragile trust that he had built with Willow, with Dawn, that was gone. So where did that put him now? Where did he belong? They had barely tolerated him before but at least he had been reliable in one way, he would do anything to keep Buffy from harm, even if that meant risking his own skin to save her worthless friends. That had been their protection from him and his one saving grace. Now she was pretty sure any of them would stake him as soon as look at him. Her head felt dizzy, what was it he wanted from her now anyway?  
  
"You shouldn't have come back."  
  
There, she had said it and she meant it. It would have been easier if he hadn't, for everyone. She could sense him looking at her again now but still couldn't bring herself to return his gaze. She started forward towards the door, half expecting him to catch her hand, but he didn't.  
  
"I wasn't going to."  
  
His voice was calm, no trace of the misery she knew he must be feeling and curiosity overcame her need for flight.  
  
"So why then."  
  
He reached into his pocket, fumbling for something wrapped in a cloth, again so awkward, so unSpike. A step forward.  
  
"This."  
  
His palm stretched out to her. On the surface lay a stone, like an emerald, bright green, but the centre glowed with a soft, moving light. She looked at it, then at him, considered her next words carefully,  
  
"Pretty! But you know a postcard, that would have been nicer."  
  
He frowned with annoyance and she saw it, the old Spike, Spikeness, he was pissed that she wasn't all 'oooohh!' over his expensive bauble. Expecting her to be grateful or something.  
  
"Look Spike, it's all very sweet and everything but really, the money thing isn't such a big deal these..."  
  
He interrupted her with almost Giles-like self-control,  
  
"It's not for you. It's for Red."  
  
Oh. Well, colour me embarrassed as hell. She examined his expression for a clue, but there was nothing. Still she didn't reach, didn't take it from him.  
  
"So it's like a magic thing? Because that is so what she doesn't need right now..."  
  
She caught herself mid-sentence. He didn't know about any of that. He'd left right before everything happened. She wondered how he react, what he'd say when she told him how close they'd all come, how much they had needed his help, how much she had needed it. And where had he been? Swanning around some desert, soaking up the sun - the moon - on some kind of head-trip thingy when he should have been here, helping without being asked as always. Saving Willow, saving....  
  
"It's from Tara."  
  
And now she couldn't think of anything. All words had gone. She looked from the stone to him again, back to the stone, asked questions with her eyes.  
  
"The place I went," he didn't seem to want to explain but she obviously needed it, "I was after something. I wanted..." he stopped, started again,"I wanted to feel better, to be myself again. This demon that lives there, he's got a handle on the whole nether worlds thing, the dark magicks, I thought he could help me."  
  
Her interest was peaked despite herself,  
  
"Help you do what?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow at her meaningfully,  
  
"The chip." he tapped the side of his head, "One of their own docs couldn't get it out, I reckoned magic was the only answer."  
  
She felt her skin begin to crawl with a slow dread. Was that it? Was that the difference she'd noticed? But before she could begin to react to that he silenced her,  
  
"Don't worry, that's not what happened."  
  
His expression was unreadable now and she couldn't tell what he was about to say next. She couldn't understand why he seemed so different, so calm, quietly authoritative.  
  
"As I say, I wanted a quick fix but he wasn't going to give it to me. Said he could give me something else though, something better."  
  
So that was it. He made a bargain with a demon, for this...whatever it was.  
  
"And it's from...it's Tara's?"  
  
He nodded once, eyes on hers. She had to ask,  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
His hand reached out, placed it in her palm and she felt her. A heat radiating out, down her arm, pouring out of it over her whole body, surrounding her with familiarity, with Tara and tears spilled from her eyes, hot, disbelieving and then it was gone. He had taken it back.  
  
"Sorry. Should have warned you. It's pretty intense."  
  
His voice was soft, filled with emotion as he carefully re-wrapped the stone. The tears wet her cheeks, like a blessing and she stared at him unable to vocalise what had just happened, what she had felt. What was that and where had he found it? Yet she knew there was no need for any answers, other than the one she had just been given.  
  
"Spike, do you think...should Willow have it?"  
  
A small smile.  
  
"It belongs to her."  
  
He was right. Whatever it was for, whatever the stone contained it was meant for Willow. He was looking at her again now, his head cocked, as if awaiting her next move.  
  
"Maybe I should be the one to take it to her though. She's not allowed to see....it's only close friends and family at the moment."  
  
He stirred as if waking for a dream, realised her meaning.  
  
"Right, you're right. Just..." he hesitated, "Give her my...you know."  
  
and his hand came out again passing it back to her, their fingers brushing. He jerked back quickly with a start, but that moment was as long as it had taken. Her eyes were wide now, wider than before and he was backing away.  
  
"Give me your hand!"  
  
It was less of a command, more of a plea, but he wasn't going to listen. His hands were in his pockets, his eyes cast down to the floor, his voice cracked,  
  
"No. It's not why...this isn't why I came back. I promised her, I said I'd bring the stone but that was all."  
  
But she was reaching for his face, his neck, any bit of bare flesh she could find. He wasn't going to fight her, didn't want to and finally he let it happen, let her touch him, feel the warmth of his skin, his hands. He watched her face as she found a pulse, placed a palm flat on his bare chest.  
  
"You're not cold. You're not cold."  
  
That was all she could say, all she could keep repeating.  
  
He slowly drew a breath, a deep one, let her see his lungs fill, let it out slowly into her hair as she bent her head to his chest to listen, an expression he'd never seen before in her eyes. Wonder. She was filled with it and it almost stopped his brand new heart beating for a second, such was the delight of seeing her smile in that way. How could he have even contemplated not coming back? Missing this? The childlike awe he himself still felt, every morning when he woke up to the rising sun, on that most beloved of faces.  
  
"But how..."  
  
She couldn't even finish the question, couldn't seem to get her head past the sound of his heart, his new smell, his mouth, she kept looking at his mouth.  
  
"Sort of a freebie actually. Well, more of a bonus thing"  
  
He could explain more later, right now he needed some space. Pulled away from her gently, stepped back towards the door. He couldn't get over her, the way she was just standing there now, in the ruin of his former home, shaking her head in amazement. He risked a smile, another small one,  
  
"What are you thinking?"  
  
Her eyes focused, unfocused with an almost comic gesture, the implication clear - her mind had just blown. She laughed once, abruptly,  
  
"What am I...? Spike you're alive!!"  
  
He couldn't resist, knew he shouldn't, but the timing was too sweet.  
  
"Actually, I'd prefer William, if it's O.K with you." 


	3. White-Out (Willow, Xander, Buffy)

3.  
  
It was so clean.  
  
Why were these places always so clean? I mean, if they were supposed to prepare people for re-entry into society, wouldn't a little dirt be a nice way to edge them into it? Real life was, after all, pretty grubby. A twelve step programme, maybe starting with a dirty plate or two, leading into some gentle dusting? She realised her mind was wandering again, snapped back to reality. It was just a clinic, not a bad place, no need to be afraid, no one going to strap you down Buffy, deep breaths. Calm. Calm.  
  
It was the same every visit. She just couldn't help herself. The smells, the noises, all the white, it gave her the heebie jeebies big time. But she could deal, needed to, for Willow's sake. Her friend needed calm- Buffy, together-Buffy, she did not need someone who leapt to her feet every time someone said 'medication'. An intern passed her, smiled hello and she managed a grimace in response. Breath, remember your breathing. Almost there now.  
  
Clutching a now slightly sweaty bunch of tulips she pushed open her friend's door one-handed and took a welcome gulp of Willow-scented air. The familiar red head turned from the TV with a wary expression that quickly turned to one of blessed relief,  
  
"Oh thank you! I thought it was Dr.Van Nostrum again"  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes, sank into a convenient chair.  
  
"Nah, he's headed in the other direction. Been doing the human pin- cushion again?"  
  
Her friend curled her lip,  
  
"No, worse. Now it's the questions. It's the...oh, how do you feel about society as a whole, Ms Rosenburg? Or...do you still think demons inhabit the earth, Ms Rosenburg? Do you still want to kill yourself, Ms Rosenburg?"  
  
"That kooky doc. Always with the uneccesary suicidal thoughts questioning."  
  
Willow met her eyes, her gaze steady.  
  
"I'm OK, Buffy."  
  
She wavered, so much pain there, always lapping below the surface.  
  
"I mean, I'll never be OK. I know. But I'm coping. I can get out of bed now."  
  
Putting her flowers down she took her usual seat beside her on the bed, Willow making room, moving the cereal bowl. They skooched up, a hand going automatically to the red hair, like with Dawn, smoothing, soothing her.  
  
"I know that. I'm glad."  
  
and they sat. Side by side, as always, one shoulder supporting the other in a comfortable silence, only disturbed by the muted sound of cartoons from the small TV by the bed. Buffy let the clock tick, tick, tick, soft and slow, listened to Willow's measured breathing slow, match her own.  
  
So long. They had done this for so long it seemed. Every day, pretty much without fail, for the last four months now, she had braved the smell of antiseptic, the white coats, the pawing hands in the lobby, to bring what she needed more than anything else. Her love and support. She hoped that it would be enough to save her, to bring her back from wherever she had taken herself, so full of pain and rage that her best friend had been almost unrecognisable. There had been times, in the first few weeks, when she had begun to lose hope, but then there had been Xander and nothing could ever shake him in his belief. Willow was there, she was still in there and together they could find her, help her, heal her. All they needed to do was to love her and to wait.  
  
And she knew the truth of it. Without both of them...she couldn't even begin to count the times they had made the difference for her. Making sense when no one else could, pulling her back from the edge, sometimes literally. Together they were her rock, her twin compasses, her Cowardly Lion and Tin Man, her Curly and Moe. She frowned. That last one didn't work so well.  
  
Willow caught her, frowned in reply,  
  
"Got cramp?"  
  
She shook her head, smiled, resumed the hair smoothing.  
  
"Nope. Just thinking. What would I do without my Willow?"  
  
Cartoons mumbled, somewhere a vacumn hummed into life. A sound of laughter. The door slammed inwards and they both jumped.  
  
Xander's dark shock of hair fell into his eyes as he hefted a bulky VCR under one elbow, a stack of tapes under the other. He froze, sweating, looked at them both, raised eyebrows.  
  
"Little help?"  
  
Guilty, they both leapt to grab something and he sank to his knees with relief.  
  
"God, I'm so out of shape."  
  
He gulped air as Willow re-seated herself cross-legged, went through the tapes.  
  
"This is so great Xander! My own VCR! I can't believe I finally get to watch something other than Bullwinkle & Rocky."  
  
"Bullwinkle's on?"  
  
He was up and on the bed in a second, eyes pinned to the screen, a grin stretched from ear to ear. The girls exchanged a look,  
  
"Xander, is that the only reason you come here? I thought you had cable?"  
  
It was no good, they'd seen it all before. He was gone to them now, into full Xander-mode, reaching for a handful of the popcorn, munching, laying back full length on the bed, making himself comfy with his head in Willow's lap.  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
Willow shifted, balanced her cereal bowl on his forehead, made with the Cheerios.  
  
"So what's been going on? Any new nasties on the Slayer circuit?"  
  
And they were here. She could dance around it but she knew they'd both see it in her face, a little surprised they hadn't already. Best to just get to it, yank it like a tooth.  
  
"Spike's back."  
  
Xander choked on popcorn, went first red then blue and suddenly all eyes were on him, hands slapping backs. Then the wheezing, the glass of necessary water, the questioning, more patting and all the time she could feel their curiosity, knew they'd just have to know everything. All the details she wasn't ready to give them yet, wasn't even sure if she was allowed to. Finally Xander managed to speak, still teary-eyed, his voice husky,  
  
"and this happened when? While I was putting another hour on the car?"  
  
Small sigh. Why did he always have to have it all, the times, the dates, who threw the first punch?  
  
"Last night. I was going to call you but..."  
  
"You thought you'd wait until my mouth was filled with tiny chokeable objects? Buffy...I thought we agreed..."  
  
The accusation in his voice was there already and she hadn't even done anything yet. And wouldn't. Definitely wouldn't. There would be no doing of anyone, anything.  
  
"Xander..."  
  
God, sometimes she sounded just like her mom,  
  
"It was late. I wasn't even sure you'd still be up."  
  
He rolled his eyes, fell back flat again. Why bother. Willow moved hair away from his brow, stroked his fringe back, left her hand there.  
  
"Buffy, it's your business. If you want to...forgive him. I mean if you feel OK about talking to him again, we're both fine about that. Aren't we?"  
  
A stream of protests was halted by a single Willow-glare, no more discussion. It was Buffy's decision, right? She saw Xander bridle, ready with the vitriol, and her head began to hurt. She didn't know what she wanted to do yet. Forgive him or let him just disappear like he said he wanted to, but she knew one thing. She didn't need the patented Harris-two- penny-worth. Not now.  
  
She saw him looking at her, beneath the righteous anger his eyes full of concern, and she watched him slowly relax, saw it miraculously dissipate. His reached for her hand, held it,  
  
"Sorry, Buff. I'm sorry. Will's right. It's up to you."  
  
She hoped the surprise wasn't as evident as she thought it was. Xander, giving her the benefit of the doubt? What was this? Wait, she knew this. Was there another Xander, outside, all full of vengeful jealousy?  
  
"Wait..."it's up to me"? So what's the catch here?  
  
He turned over, eyes back on the TV again.  
  
"No catch. I just have...confidence in your decision making."  
  
Willow shook her head, handed him back the popcorn.  
  
"So what did he say? Did he tell you where he's been?"  
  
Her curiosity was infectious and she noticed Xander turning the sound down a little, to facilitate the eavesdropping.  
  
"He was in Africa."  
  
"Africa!! Like Africa, with the lions and the tribesmen and...the heat, Africa?"  
  
Willow's amazement mirrored her own of last night but Xander wasn't ready to concede his just yet,  
  
"Had to see a demon about a dog?"  
  
Buffy couldn't stop the smile,  
  
"Actually, you're not far off."  
  
Their confusion was evident and she finally caved,  
  
"He went to find a demon someone told him could remove his chip."  
  
Willow's face contorted with horror,  
  
"Oh my God! He didn't...I mean...did he...?"  
  
Her friend shook her head,  
  
"No. He didn't. I mean...he changed his mind."  
  
This time it was Xander turn to gape and she found herself enjoying it a little, on Spike's behalf. You see, you don't know his as well as you think you do, do you? The disbelief was all over his face, along with the suspicion and dislike.  
  
"You're telling me that...Cujo chose...the leash over din-dins?"  
  
He eyed her, made the face, the one that had always made her want to smack him. Like she was a fool for ever believing anything Spike had ever said,  
  
"Who told you that? Did he? What else did he tell you? I caught a fish and it was THIS BIG!"  
  
"Xander..."  
  
Willows voice had the edge of ice to it, the one thing always guaranteed to silence the Harris-sarcasm-machine. Buffy folded her arms, studied the quilt.  
  
"So, he didn't get the chip out? Well, that's good...I mean we're all agreed that's a good thing? Right?"  
  
Always the peacemaker, cutting through to the core, Willow drew them back together, allowed her to continue. But she couldn't find the words yet, didn't know how to say it right. She could feel their eyes on her again, knowing there must be more.  
  
"Buffy? He isn't...I mean he didn't try..."  
  
Her head came up, eyes wide.  
  
"No, no! God! He's so...."  
  
she knew what the reaction to this one would be,  
  
"He's so sorry about...everything. He never meant to...I know he didn't really mean to hurt me, before. He was just...."  
  
"A vampire."  
  
There. He'd said it. Without even knowing he'd put his finger on it, the one thing that could make the difference, between now and then. Between Spike and this unSpike, this William. The one thing she'd hadn't stopped thinking about for the past eleven hours. He was a vampire and now...he wasn't. He was her natural enemy and now, he wasn't. He was a evil, soulless creature and now....  
  
Well, she didn't know. She didn't know him. She knew Spike, yes, she knew every inch of him, every nasty little twist and bend in his psyche, every thought about her that had ever entered his gloriously perverse imagination. But, William? Who was that? Not a stranger, he had Spike's brain, his memories, his face, but he was human, he was alive and her mind reeled again. How could this be? How could the two exist in one body? It was like vamping someone in reverse!  
  
Xander watched her, gauging her reaction, testing the waters. Willow asked the question she could tell he was unable to, was afraid of.  
  
"Buffy, you don't still...I mean you're not still...attracted to him, are you?"  
  
"I don't even know him."  
  
Xander let out a breath slowly, nodded once to reassure himself,  
  
"And you don't want to...you know...get to know him?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
She was confused now, what did he know? Had she been thinking out loud a minute ago?  
  
"Who?!? Spike!!"  
  
She shook her head, suddenly remembered the real reason she'd come, felt in her pocket.  
  
"Spike's dead. Willow, he told me to give you this." 


	4. Message In A Bottle (Giles, Buffy, Xande...

4.  
  
It was difficult to look at her now.  
  
Willow's expression hurt her heart, made her eyes prickle with hot tears, thinking about how she must be feeling. That stone, it was like a direct link to Tara, a conduit between wherever she was now and here, this room, this place. Between her and her Willow, whose face was radiant now, awash with tears, as she silently said everything she'd held inside ever since they'd been parted. There was no need for words in that place. She remembered that much.  
  
She felt a little uncomfortable, as if she walked in on her, on them, in a private moment. Maybe they should leave? She motioned to Xander with her head and they got slowly to their feet, moved quietly to the door.  
  
"Will she be OK? What's it doing to her?"  
  
His voice was just above a whisper, as full of emotion and wonder as she was. To see Willow this way, so luminous with hope and grief, was wonderfully terrifying. For months now, since her return to consciousness, she had been detached, dipping only very occasionally into the darkness they knew must still threaten to overwhelm her. The deep well of sadness growing ever deeper, ever more unfathomable within her and nothing either anyone could say or do to help ease it. No one except Tara herself.  
  
She could come to terms with loss, eventually, but the guilt... In the aftermath of her complete meltdown it had come to her. Terrible, soul- destroying guilt that had overridden her raw anguish over Tara's death almost entirely. How could see have desecrated her memory so completely? By taking everything that she had despised, the black arts, magic for pure evil, for revenge and embracing it, drinking it into herself as if it were some kind of balm for what she had lost. The second that Tara's life had left her body. That was how she had remembered her, not with tears and beautiful memories, but with hate and blood and that was what she needed to be cured of. Not the addiction to magic or the suicidal impulses. She needed Tara's forgiveness. She needed absolution.  
  
The stone glowed with a pure white heat and Buffy felt it. Tara was healing her, answering Willow, cleansing her, assuaging. She gently pushed Xander outside, closed the door.  
  
"It's helping her. More than we ever could."  
  
He nodded shakily. One touch of it had convinced him of it's power, it's ability to heal Willow, as it had Buffy. They crossed the hallway, leant on the sill to look outside.  
  
Fall was almost over, the grounds of the clinic a carpet of russet and scarlet. They watched the birds for a while in silence, the to and fro of the hospital staff, patients and day visitors.  
  
"So...where did you say he got it?"  
  
Buffy opened her mouth to answer, stopped. One particular visitor had caught her eye. Scurrying across the front lawn, clutching a bunch of flowers, it was his halting, self-conscious manner that made her notice him, rather than the familiar forehead and greying hair. She grinned, banged on the glass with a little too much force.  
  
"Buffy! Hey there!"  
  
Xander was flushed with embarrassment, as every eye in the day room turned to them. She groaned, grabbed his arm, steered him towards the stairwell,  
  
"Didn't you see him? Giles is downstairs!"  
  
Their entrance into the foyer was less than dignified. Buffy forced to straddle Xander's back in her efforts to get past him, bringing him to his knees at the foot of the stairs, ending up in a tangle of arms and legs, slapping and shoving at each other as if they had never left the library.  
  
"And the raising of your own children? When does this begin again?"  
  
His voice was faintly imperious, tinged with humour as always, his question directed at Xander who was scrambling to his feet to embrace him in a bear hug. Buffy joined him, careful not to break any ribs, burying her face in the comfortingly familiar aroma of his tweed jacket.  
  
"Yeah well, we're a few months off yet,"  
  
Xander was grinning now, full of pride in his accomplishment, getting Anya pregnant.  
  
"I'm gonna cram at the last minute. They do study guides for Dr. Spock?"  
  
Buffy, too full of joy, continued to hug until the moment had long passed. Giles cleared his throat conspicuously and she opened her eyes, let him go.  
  
"Oops, sorry!" she dusted him down, "Too much with the whole needy for affection thing."  
  
They stood apart for a second, forming three corners of a familiar quadrangle. The forth member notably absent. Giles was the first to speak,  
  
"How is she?"  
  
Xander drew breath, looked at Buffy, held it.  
  
"She's good. She's better."  
  
There it was. The obligatory removal of the glasses, the slow polish which spoke of worries too many and varied to voice. Of his affection for Willow, his concern for them and, as always, the uneasiness, the guilt for having left them to deal with this alone. Buffy's hand went out, touched his,  
  
"We're all good."  
  
His head came up, met her eyes with gratitude. She saw Xander shift on one foot with anticipation, knew he was eager to share, could never keep a secret for long, especially from Giles. He gave a small cough, gesturing less subtly with his head to the coffee room.  
  
"Why don't we have a...Giles you look as if you could do with a...?"  
  
This was bad. He'd only been back in the country five minutes and already he was being confronted with stuff, asked to deal with stuff. It didn't seem fair. Just for once she wished he could find everything peachy, maybe come round for a nice dinner, enjoy a refreshing break from his duties in England, play a couple of hands of poker with her and Dawn. But always with the death and the portents and the horror, the horror. She sighed and felt his eyes go to her, wary.  
  
"What is it? Is it money?"  
  
What was this? Did everyone think they were on the verge of bankruptcy?  
  
"No, really. We're fine. Money is fine."  
  
She could see the disbelief being suppressed by them both and chose to ignore it.  
  
"No, it's..."  
  
Xander urged her on with a look and she went for it. Better out than in.  
  
"Spike gave me this stone for Willow and it's Tara. It's not Tara..I mean I think it's a link to Tara or a message and we've given it to her and she's crying now, but good crying we think, but we don't really know what it is."  
  
She sucked air, swallowed, bit her lip. Giles' face was a picture. Total confusion. You could almost hear the cogs, smell the oil as the motors whirred. She dreaded the look, the slow raise of the eyes, the clipped, hushed tone that let her know just how thoughtless, how stupid she had been, but it never came. Instead he cocked his head a little, frowned.  
  
"A stone? What sort of stone?"  
  
She breathed soft again, her mouth losing it's dryness.  
  
"Shiny, green. Bit like kryptonite."  
  
Xander supplied the details with his usual reference to pop culture, luckily one that Giles understood. He nodded, needing more though,  
  
"When you say 'shiny', do you mean...?"  
  
"It's all glowey-inside. Like that sphere thing we found to repel Glory was?"  
  
His expression changed to one she couldn't entirely fathom. He didn't seem worried at all, just surprised.  
  
"And where did you say...did you say Spike? Where did he find this?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. So not ready for this one just yet.  
  
"From an African demon, some big noise over there who's got a handle on the whole dimensional thing he said. Tall guy, glowing eyes, lives in a cave. Tardis...or something?"  
  
That was better, she could read that look. Interest and a little pleasure.  
  
"T'sarnis?"  
  
She nodded once, relief.  
  
"That's it. I couldn't do the whole tar-snar sound."  
  
The glasses were off again. One day she'd start counting, see how many times he did that per hour. Make a graph or a pie chart or something.  
  
"T'sarnis. He's a Graff'la demon. They have the ability to travel between dimensions, different planes. As easily as...er...we can travel to the next room."  
  
"Handy! I mean if you've forgotten something, your boarding pass or your flight bag."  
  
Xander's desire to inject humour always overruled his need to know,  
  
"Spiritual planes. Demon dimensions and..." his eyes flicked to Buffy,"er...heavenly ones."  
  
She knew he was trying to protect her she knew, but she let him know it wasn't needed any more with a slight raise of her eyebrows. She was an adult, things changed, she had dealt.  
  
"So Spike got this...stone from T'sarnis? What business did he have with him?"  
  
No need to mince words. She could tell him this, even though she could still hardly make sense of it herself. But she needed to keep it short, clear, so he didn't ask too many more questions, questions she didn't know the answers to yet.  
  
"Spike's been humaned."  
  
Damn Xander and his flair for the dramatic. Now the cat was well and truly out of the bag. More than that, the cat was up and dancing, waving flags. Giles' stared at him, at her, trying to glean something, before sputtering in a totally uncharacteristic manner,  
  
"What on...earth are you talking about?"  
  
"Spike's alive. He made him alive."  
  
She gulped, her eyes wide, willing him to understand, so he could explain to her, but all she saw was more disbelief, confusion and more than a touch of alarm. Xander spread his hands wide on the table top, looked at the fingers, looked at them.  
  
"So who's for coffee?"  
  
and he was gone. Out of the blast radius. He'd thrown in the grenade and was now retreating to a bunker. She saw him steal a glance over his shoulder as he joined the line by the coffee machine and she froze him with a glare. Harris...you have a big mouth.  
  
"So let me get this right? Spike turns up, gives you a glowing orb from a powerful inter-dimensional African demon to give to Willow...oh and by the way, he's now human?"  
  
"Everything apart from the orb thing. It's more of a big rock."  
  
She watched him shake his head, try to take it in, fail miserably, settle for a partial solution.  
  
"Well, I'd have to see it of course but it sounds as if it might be something called a Seraph Stone. A very rare object. Demons use them to communicate, pass messages between dimensions. Saves all the messy porthole-ripping."  
  
"Sort of like a demon-beeper?"  
  
He rolled his eyes indulgently,  
  
"No, not really." he paused, reconsidered, "More like a spiritual mobile phone."  
  
"A-ha!"  
  
Xander rejoined them with a beatific smile,  
  
"So that's good, right? Willow can talk to Tara now?"  
  
Giles pursed his lips,  
  
"A Seraph Stone is er....a very powerful object. It links the spirit, the essence of one person with another. If Tara had simply wanted to give Willow a message I'm sure a good medium would have been a better method."  
  
They looked at one another in silent understanding. A message wouldn't have been enough, she needed to see Tara, to be with her one last time. That was the purpose of the stone, why she had asked Spike to bring it all this way. Giles cleared his throat again, took a sip from his coffee.  
  
"So...er...getting back to the other matter?"  
  
Both pairs of eyes on her now and she still didn't know what to tell them.  
  
"I know...I know...I didn't believe it either. But you should see him! With the pulse and the breathing and everything. It's eerie!"  
  
"And this happened how exactly?"  
  
Xander's in,  
  
"Don't tell me. Was it bad shrimp?"  
  
She eyed him with annoyance. Quit it, this is serious, I'm in deep here. Spend a year trying to come to terms for your feelings for a vampire, all the reasons you shouldn't be with him, want him, and then...to have it all turned upside down like this? How should she feel? Confused? Thrown? Try a double helping with cherries.  
  
"Maybe you should ask him yourself, I probably wouldn't understand half of it all anyway. Why don't you give him a call?"  
  
she took a crumpled card from the pocket of her leather jacket, handed it to him. Giles grimaced with revulsion,  
  
"He's staying at The Ramada Inn?"  
  
"Room 504!"  
  
She looked at them both, a guilty start.  
  
"What? He told me the number!" 


	5. Visiting Hours (Buffy, Spike, Giles)

5.  
  
Bloody nothing on TV.  
  
Why didn't that surprise him? He tossed the controls on the bed, made with the Doritos, dipped one. Mmmm, salsa. Why hadn't anyone ever mentioned salsa to him? He double-dipped. Or guacamole? Maybe they were sparing him. Scarfed both flavours with a satisfied grunt.  
  
If they'd had stuff like this in 1800s London... well, let's just say Dru's offer wouldn't have seemed half as appealing. He leaned to the night stand, cracked another bottle of imported beer on the edge, took a pull. Ah, frosty nectar. Now that was something he had never stopped appreciating, even with the under active taste-buds, but the difference, the multi-layered flavour now, gave him a head rush. Wondered what other things he'd forgotten, what else might improve with the addition of a pulse.  
  
The thing was he'd tasted so little of life before that night, could barely remember it, although he was fairly sure that micro-brew and savoury snacks hadn't played a major role. He remembered his Mother's face, grey, pouchy, always so disappointed in him. Sitting down to Sunday Lunch in the parlour, always such a drab affair with the muslin doilies and the woefully overcooked veg. The grandfather clock it had been his duty to wind, twice daily. Remembered the choking smell of London in the mornings, the sound of hooves on cobbles outside his basement bedroom window. None of that seemed real now, like a dream he'd had. His years since that, on the other hand, were all too vivid. He chugged beer, wiped his mouth. But he wasn't about to go all dark and tortured on anyone. Start moussing his hair. He'd model himself on Anya. What was done was done. The creature that had inhabited his body, that was responsible for his actions and it was gone now. All that was left was him, the person he'd built around the demon, despite it, and he wasn't a bad man. He turned the bag of chips upside down. He was just really hungry.  
  
A knock at the door and he cursed his depleted sense of hearing. Before, he'd have sensed someone at the end of the hall, now anyone equipped with sneakers, a hatchet and a need for retribution was free to take a swing. He killed the sound, looked around for a weapon, settled on a wine bottle. Moved up against the door, eye to peephole.  
  
Oh.  
  
Giles.  
  
Bollocks.  
  
He cursed silently, what did he want? Buffy must have told him. Buffy. Just thinking about her made him break out in a familiar cold sweat. He composed himself. Swung the door wide, greeted him with a not all together unfriendly smile.  
  
"Rupert!"  
  
God, and it was almost worth the whole trip back just to see the look on the old sod's face. His face stretched wider with a wicked grin of delight.  
  
"Come on in. Make yourself at home. Have a beer. Sit down."  
  
Glad to have been given some instructions Giles found the feeling in his legs, found his way to a chair, stared at him with burgeoning horror.  
  
"My God, it is true. You're alive."  
  
Spike cracked another beer, handed it to him. A second passed, while his eyes took it all in, the chips, the overflowing fridge, the empty mini bar and then, more slowly, him. The hair, the face, the radical change of style,  
  
"Have you put on weight?"  
  
He choked, suddenly self-conscious, drew himself upright.  
  
"Couple of pounds."  
  
Giles snorted,  
  
"Try a stone."  
  
"Easy Dad! You're looking a little more...comfortable yourself."  
  
He saw him bridle, find a retort and then falter, feel the shift of attitude between them. No one knew how to take him anymore. It wasn't so much the change of outward appearances, he knew Giles felt the subtle absence, the lack of real bile. But he could still snipe it out with the best of them, of that he had no doubt. The row he'd had with the manager? Just yesterday? When the guy had tried to saddle him with a room without a view? He slumped, sighed, looked at his feet. Who was he kidding? He was a bloody pussy cat. And just as he was thinking that, who should appear in the doorway? If he was a pussy cat, what did that make her? Catnip?  
  
No smile between them, just a look, but one that obviously made Giles feel out of place. Her ex-watcher had been thankfully completely unaware of their relationship, only learning the most skeletal details from an over- descriptive Dawn during one telephone conversation, but knew that it was supposed to be over. Buffy moved into the room, closed the door, perched on a dresser at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. Giles had never been a student of body language but something was being pretty definitely spelt out to him now.  
  
Go to the bar.  
  
He rose to his feet, knocked back the rest of the beer,  
  
"Sorry, I'm just going to go and...er...get something a little stronger. Won't be long"  
  
So now what? He found himself wanting to go after Giles, anywhere he wouldn't have to deal with this. With her. With emotions. His undiminished sense of self-preservation took over and he leaned back on the bed, tres casual, cranked the sound up on 'I Love Lucy'. A moment passed and he could feel her watching him, measuring him up. Felt his gaze being inextricably drawn back to hers.  
  
"What do you want me to say?"  
  
And here it came. The lead in to the all too familiar Summer's tirade. He closed his eyes, tried to let it wash over him, like always. But this time it was different. There was a note in her voice that he didn't recognise. Anguish. He looked at her. She really didn't know.  
  
"What I want and what you feel are two different things. As we both know."  
  
He couldn't stop the desperation from creeping in, hated the sound of it and he didn't want to go there again. He sighed softly, turned off the TV.  
  
"I told you last night. I didn't come back for...this. What happened to me out there, it wasn't my choice, it wasn't what I asked for. But I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry it turned out this way. I realised something a while ago, but I couldn't admit it, not to myself. Becoming a vampire, it was a cop-out for me. Real life... was just too hard. All the pain and the...it was all so complicated so when I was offered a way out, a way to rise above it all, I took it. And then I didn't have to worry about anything any more. I was free of it. Free of life."  
  
he took a long pull on his beer,  
  
"All these years, pretending I was someone I'm not, making out like I was the Big Bad? It was all just fake. I was just too scared to be the real me."  
  
Her eyes were cast down now, not in disbelief but because she was listening to him. He could see her lean towards him slightly, her hands move to rest on her knees. God, he wanted to hold her so much, it was like a physical pain. It was everything he could do to stop himself from getting up, taking her hands, brushing her hair away from her eyes. He swallowed.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
and for the first time he felt it, really felt it in his gut and his heart, worse than any regret he'd known. That pain on the night he'd left, after he's hurt her so badly? The time she'd told him finally "it's over"? That was nothing compared to this. He felt sick with it, realised for the first time that this was the real difference, the change he'd made in himself. He'd wanted it to hurt, wanted to suffer, because then he could start to heal, to, how had she put it? Move on. Like Willow was doing right now. But to come here, to drag her back into it? He didn't want that. He'd never wanted her pain, only his own. He stood, went for the door but she raised her face, stopped him with a look. So sad and tired, her eyes rimmed with red.  
  
"What for? What is it you're sorry for?"  
  
Her voice was calm but he could hear the tremor she hid so skilfully beneath and it cut him deep. There had been a time when nothing was hidden between them and he had treasured that. Their bond, although her affection was always absent, had been so very close. She had let him in, into her arms, her life, her bed, into her and he had found something there that, until then, he didn't think could exist. He loved her, before with his mind and his body, now with all his heart and he could barely look at her now, the guilt making him shake. Thinking it's my fault. I'm hurting her just by being here. So sorry Buffy. So selfish of me and before he could stop it his hand went out, cupped her cheek gently, stroked, soothed her.  
  
"Everything,"  
  
Fuck, it was in his voice too now,  
  
"I swear I never meant..."  
  
"I know. I know you didn't. I'm sorry too."  
  
She blinked, closed her eyes, rested against his palm for a second and he leaned in, breathed the scent of her hair.  
  
Have to go, have to go now. Feet move please, because now she was taking his hand, soft, small fingers pressed into his palm, holding his wrist, gentle, pressing the palm to her lips. He felt his breath catch in his throat as she turned her face up to him. Feet move. Please feet. Now would be a good time.  
  
"How about this? We start over."  
  
That was another thing he was going to have to start getting used to. Swallow. Remember to swallow. What had she just said?  
  
"I mean you being a...new man and all? Willow being on her way to recovery, Xander and Anya with the...new life bringing. I mean, this feels like fresh start material. Don't you think?"  
  
He could nod, he knew he could do that. So do it! Nodded.  
  
"Good. That's good. Then that's...what we'll do."  
  
And there it was, just a flash, but it was something, enough. That look in her eyes as she gently let go his hand. Just a trace of...was that reluctance Buffy? He sensed she'd noticed him noticing, the stir of self- conscious surprise and suddenly she was on her feet too, chin up, slayer- cool restored.  
  
"So hey, I'll just go back out now and then...."she motioned into the corridor, "I'll, you know, come back in again."  
  
and she did. Went out. Closed the door behind her.  
  
He stood motionless. So, this was it? Is this what he wanted? A new start, a fresh start in good old Sunny-D? His head told him no, shouted it. He needed more time, a long time alone, he needed to think and this wasn't thinking. This was doing. This was too much like Spike and he wasn't Spike any more, didn't want to be. Spike was hardness, coldness, hurt, pain and death and he was done with that. It tasted like ashes. So what? What did he want? Peace? That was a joke, if he'd wanted that he should have gone with Tara. A home? Did he want a home now, to find his place, take a number? Friends? Real life? Did he know anything, really want anything?  
  
The door knocked and he opened it. She stood there, stuck a hand out, straight.  
  
"William right? Hi there! Buffy Summers!"  
  
He knew. 


	6. The Invitation (Buffy, Dawn, Anya, Xande...

6.  
  
"So which one?"  
  
Dawn frowned, head on one side. What a cutie she was sometimes.  
  
"I'm not sure," her brow knitted, "Did you say you want slutty or just...?"  
  
She sighed, threw the top to join the others on the floor.  
  
"This one?"  
  
Her sister's mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust. God, sometimes....it was wierd the times Dawn reminded her of Mom. Or was it herself? She couldn't differentiate.  
  
"That one's so.....grey."  
  
Was she colour-blind now?  
  
"It's purple!"  
  
Another face,  
  
"You know what I mean. Don't you want to look...you know...sexy?"  
  
God, how was it she was growing up so fast? She raised her eyebrows, enough already.  
  
"Did I say that? Sexy does not enter into the equation. I want...capable."  
  
The retching sound, God, how she hated that. Had she been this obnoxious as a teenager? She refused to believe it, tried the last one against herself in the mirror. This didn't say capable, but it did say...flat chested. She sighed. Why was that even an issue? Was Dawn right? Did she want to look sexy tonight? She reached around in her head, tried to get a hold on her feelings about having him here, in her house, with Giles and Xander and Anya. God, Xander and Anya. This was going to be a tough one.  
  
"How 'bout this one?"  
  
She was in her closet now, going through her things with the smooth practice of someone who knew their way around. Held out the white lace one. Hadn't seen that in a while. She shook her head firmly,  
  
"Why not? It's pretty!"  
  
And now she could felt her face heating up,  
  
"Remember that night...the one I wouldn't tell you about, no matter how many times you asked? When the...building fell down?"  
  
Dawn's eyes went wide, saucers, flushed scarlet, shoved the blouse to the very back.  
  
"Right. Go with the purple one. Good choice!"  
  
This was wierd. Everything felt so...what was that term Giles used...'off kilter', and everyone was feeling it. When she'd gone round to Xander's, found the two of them kneeling on the floor, deep breathing together, practicing their le mars thingy, she'd tried to make it sound really casual. Just a little get-together, to celebrate Willow's breakthrough, Gile's visit, no biggie. But she had felt Xander's discomfort when he'd asked,  
  
"And is he going to be there?"  
  
Was there any way out of this that wouldn't involve the shouting and the probable bloodshed?  
  
"Yes, I asked him to come."  
  
Xander's head went down, slid Anya off his lap.  
  
"Look Buff, I meant what I said before. If you want to forgive him, well...that's your decision. But you can't expect us to just...."  
  
Involuntarily his eyes flicked to Anya, it was enough. She threw down Dr Spock,  
  
"Oh, I see! So when you said it was all behind us...what you actually meant was 'I won't mention it unless I happen to think of it'. Well...thank you very much Xander, now I have to pee again."  
  
She stalked away in the direction of the bathroom, her grand exit only slightly marred by the fluffy hippo slippers, and slammed the door so hard it made the frame jump. He sighed, got to his feet putting the exercise mat away. Buffy felt a stir of guilt. She hadn't meant to bring up painful memories, now Anya was mad and it was all her fault. The bathroom door swung open again and a sweetly smiling face poked out,  
  
"Honey, could you get my robe? I'm going to take a bath now."  
  
"Sure thing cup-cake."  
  
The door closed and he saw her looking at him, eyebrows raised,  
  
"It's a mood thing. This morning she made me waffles for breakfast and burnt one..."  
  
He indicated the ceiling above their heads, a gelatinous mess of honey and waffle batter.  
  
"My mom says it'll wear off in....eighteen years or so."  
  
He sunk down into the sofa. So very tired and, after a second or two, she joined him. Listened to the water running in the bathtub, Anya's singing, was that, the Carpenters? Wouldn't have guessed that one. They risked a look at each other. Contrition on both sides. So, cut me some slack Xander, this is hard for me too you know? She saw him feel that, the kindly big brother part of him start to kick in.  
  
"So how is he....you know, so different?"  
  
She hadn't known how to answer that one. Only knew that he was. Different. Now she looked at herself in the mirror again, for at least the twentieth time that night, pulled at the strap on her haltertop. The question was, how was she.  
  
The doorbell went, followed by the thunderous sound of Dawn's feet on the stairs.  
  
"I'll get it!"  
  
and suddenly she felt queasy, like sea-sickness but without the pleasant holiday associations. Was this really such a good idea? Maybe a public place would have been safer, with lots of people, somewhere bright. Bright. So strange to think of seeing him in sunlight. She glanced out of the window, saw the sun wasn't quite down yet, moved to the dresser, selected a lipstick that said 'pretty' rather than 'take me now'.  
  
"So you're not planning on jumping his bones tonight then?"  
  
Anya stood in the doorway, an earnest look on her face, one hand resting on her barely noticeable bump. Buffy flushed,  
  
"Not tonight or any time. Really," she couldn't tell what she was thinking, "It's just dinner. I thought...I said we could just try to make a fresh start."  
  
Anya studied her, folded her arms.  
  
"So the being human now thing? That's not...like a big deal to you?"  
  
This was a mine-field, she could feel it. Discussing the semantics of reanimation with a moody, pregnant, two-time-ex-vengeance demon? Really not the best way to get the night off to a melodious start. She considered lying but if there was one thing that Anya knew, it was the truth.  
  
"It's a big deal, Anya, it's a very big deal. I'm just saying...everything doesn't change just because he can...see his reflection now. We all have stuff to talk about."  
  
She thought she saw her nod, seem about to go, but then she was walking over, closing the door behind her. Oh God, was she going to end up like the waffles? Her eyes darted around for a means of escape. But suddenly, oh too wierd. This was...too wierd. She was hugging her. Not just a cursory squeeze, really hugging, with actual warmth. Hormones were so strange. She pulled back a little, saw she was a little teary-eyed.  
  
"It's not just the hormones. I want you to be happy Buffy. Because I'm happy!" she shook her head, surprised at herself, "Isn't that odd?"  
  
She choked, tried not to laugh,  
  
"It is. Thanks. I'd like that too."  
  
She wasn't letting go though,  
  
"I mean, I don't like anyone any more than I did before, but suddenly I don't want to kill them all. At least," she grinned, a little crazy now. "Not tonight anyway!"  
  
She suddenly realised that they'd been hugging for a little longer than was necessary, stood back, smiled, more normal now,  
  
"That halter makes your boobs disappear."  
  
and with that, nodded, satisfied and let herself out. She could hear Xander downstairs now, messing with Dawn, squeals and Giles' familiar intervention. Was this for the best? Really? Maybe she should have waited, let them all adjust to the idea first. Then the bell again and suddenly her time was up.  
  
From the top of the stairs she watched Dawn gallop to the door, barely able to contain her excitement, swing it wide. God, this was so strange. He was standing on the porch taking in the sunset, hands in pockets, and it wasn't just the hair now, the clothes. It was all of him. His face as he turned to see Dawn, just lit up from inside. She remembered it before, always that mask of cool, reserved affection for the littlest Summers, so wary of appearing too soft, too human. Now, she thought he would have whooped with delight if he'd known how to. Grabbed Dawn, hugged her, stared at her in amazement,  
  
"Good God Niblet! Have you grown a metre?"  
  
"Two inches since June!"  
  
She was as thrown as he was, but completely overwhelmed by her happiness to see him. They took in the faces of the others and then her fingers were winding their way through his. Turning the tables on the whole thing. He glanced at her, grateful for her protection. She saw Dawn draw herself up, ready for the onslaught and felt a stab of pride. Dawn loved Spike, she believed in him and she was ready to stand up for that. Her little sister. So why couldn't she?  
  
She took a step, craned her head around the banister. Not ready just yet though. Need to see how this is going to play out. Uncomfortable silence was an understatement, somebody say something, anything.  
  
"So, the whole breathing thing? How's that working out for ya?"  
  
It was a start and for Xander, a miraculously polite one. She could see Spike struggling for an answer that wouldn't tip the whole evening into chaos.  
  
"It's...ah...fun. Yeah."  
  
More silence. Giles sipped a brandy a little too casually. God, this was like watching a car crash, an incredibly lo-speed car crash involving inflatable clown cars. God, now Anya,  
  
"Are you finding the sweating a problem? I've found zinc based products..."  
  
she caught a look from Giles, got a little indignant,  
  
"Well, what would you know? You've been a constant ninety-eight degrees your whole life."  
  
This was going to turn ugly unless they changed the subject and now she could sense Giles coming to the rescue,  
  
"So, I...how was...Africa?"  
  
Dawn's eyes were dancing, gripping his arm,  
  
"Did you see any lions?"  
  
They were on safe ground here. Animals.  
  
"No, but on the way across the desert? I saw them setting up for Star Wars: Episode Three..."  
  
And then Xander was in,  
  
"Subtitled: Computer Generated Grimace: Death Of Any Kind Of Interesting Plotline."  
  
And suddenly she knew it was going to be OK. There would be always be the friction, distrust but she knew now that she had underestimated the changes in both of them. Xander was giving Spike the benefit of the doubt, perhaps for the first time in their long and bitter assocation. When had he suddenly grown up? In the twenty minutes she'd been fussing with her hair in the bathroom? She looked from her friend to his radiant girlfriend, her arm looped through his, smiling up at him and suddenly she knew. The change had been there for a while. It wasn't when Anya had forgiven him, it was when he'd forgiven himself.  
  
With a deep breath she straightened up, adjusted the straps beneath her white, lace top. This wasn't going to be easy, but as her Mom had always told her, nothing worthwhile ever was. She took a step down the stairs, felt his eyes on her, full of surprise and delight. Then Dawn's, noticing her outfit, understanding the implication, breaking into a knowing grin.  
  
"That's much better!" Anya beamed, "And your breasts look magnificent!" 


	7. Party Favours (Buffy, Dawn, Anya, Xander...

7.  
  
And now he had them all exactly where he wanted them.  
  
The idiot Xander just standing there, nowhere to go, so alone, all escape routes neatly sealed off. He could almost smell his fear, at least he might have been able to had his nostrils still been of the demon variety, instead of the low-grade human kind. He was looking around for his Anya now, looking for any kind of help, desperate, but she was out of it, long since despatched by a single masterful stroke. He could still picture her expression, total confusion, disbelief, followed by horror. God, this was sweet. This was what it was all about.  
  
Then Giles had thought himself some kind of match for him, but how wrong had he been? It had taken exactly fifteen seconds for him to find out just how little he really knew about combat. Now he was down and out for the count too, fumbling at the carpet like a blind man. So, no change there. Just the two left to go now. The sweetest. The littlest Summers and then...her, and he was going to enjoy this, savour it. He could almost taste it already, his victory, heady like a good wine, how long it had been in coming and now it was almost upon him, almost.....  
  
"Hey!" he frowned, suddenly furious, "Japan's mine! You can't have Japan!"  
  
She grinned at him, all white teeth and golden hair, eyes sparkling with mischief,  
  
"Snuck up on you there, while you were busy pounding Xander in the Steppes! Herald the conquering Summer's army!! We are victorious!!"  
  
Then Dawn made the little blue horses dance, Buffy doing the trumpet. Bloody hell. Suddenly this game sucked.  
  
"I don't think that's playing fair anyway."  
  
He could hear the whine creeping into his voice, stamped it down.  
  
"What? Kickin' yo' ass?"  
  
The bit was getting too big for her boots now. It was bad enough losing to big sis, let alone having it rammed down his throat by Niblet here. She could do with a little discipline, show a bit of respect for her elders. He snorted,  
  
"The two of you ganging up I mean. This is a game of world domination. Lonely are the brave and all that!"  
  
Buffy swept the pieces off the table not without a touch of triumph, back into their box,  
  
"What about the allies? World War II? Maybe I was America...and Dawn was like...England or something!"  
  
"In which case you'd have spent the first hour hiding under the table pretending nothing was happening. Until the worst of it was over and you could come in, shoot a few dying Gerries and claim all the glory."  
  
That was low. He knew it, glanced at Giles for support, saw him look pointedly at the curtains. Xander was shaking his head, full of disgust,  
  
"I see. So now it's not enough to beat everyone else. You want to insult our heritage too? You are walking a very thin line, my man."  
  
He rolled his eyes, felt in his pockets for a cigarette.  
  
"The trouble with you lot is...Oy!"  
  
What was she doing? That was his last one! And he hadn't even lit it yet! Watched her tear it up in tiny pieces, throw it into the empty fireplace.  
  
"You're quitting. As of tonight."  
  
Bloody great. First she stomped his ass all over Central Asia, now she was telling him what he could and couldn't put in his mouth. She flashed a warning look at him and he felt his anger melt, fast, like snow on a hot plate. God, she looked gorgeous when she got all self-righteous like that. He'd like to tell her what to put in her....  
  
"So who's for cheesecake? Dawnie made it!"  
  
A chorus of spectacularly unconvincing voices, making yummy sounds until the cook interjected, quietly confessional,  
  
"I didn't really. I just said that. It's Entenman's"  
  
Dessert was suddenly far more appealing. Buffy counted hands, went for the plates.  
  
"So...who's for another hand of poker?"  
  
Hope was dancing in Anya's eyes as she rattled the box of chips. Xander prised them out of her fingers with difficulty, tossed them, kissed her hands.  
  
"Another night sweetie. You've had enough of everyone's money for one evening."  
  
She sighed, petulant, sunk back into his arms,  
  
"It's not fair. I won't be pregnant for much longer...and they won't let me win any more once I'm not."  
  
Xander laughed, glanced round at their faces. Stopped cold,  
  
"You were letting her win?"  
  
Spike studied his fingernails. Giles cleared his throat,  
  
"Well, she's very...."  
  
"Delicate? She's not you know!"  
  
"Actually...I was going to say scary."  
  
Anya nodded, stroked his arm.  
  
"I am scary. You should all be scared. The producing of new life is a...terrifying and miraculous process."  
  
Dawn reached her hand up, for at least the fourth time, felt the bump.  
  
"I still can't feel it kicking though. Are you sure it did?"  
  
Anya grunted,  
  
"It doesn't kick. It writhes. I think it may be reptile."  
  
Xander's face was a picture. Spike tried vainly to hide the smirk, couldn't, went to see how the dessert was progressing. She was in the kitchen, he leant on the door frame, unnoticed.  
  
He could watch her all night, sometimes had. From his night-time post by the fir tree, he could see her whole life, glimpsed through single yellow frames. Watching TV, reading, studying, brushing her hair at her night stand. It had felt so impossible then, that he could ever be there, in the picture with her. They had been separated, by light and dark, two distinct halves of the same whole, but he had so wanted it. To pass over, to move into the halo that surrounded her, become part of it. That had been his secret dream and his torment, for so long. And now?  
  
"See, you're going to have to break yourself of that!"  
  
He flushed, caught in the act. She'd known he was there all along of course. Stupid to think The Slayer could be crept up on.  
  
"Sorry,"  
  
funny how the word seemed to come so easily now,  
  
"I wasn't...just seeing if you needed any help."  
  
She smiled easily,  
  
"There was a time when you wouldn't even have asked."  
  
Was she teasing him now? She wasn't smiling but he could sense her enjoying this, making gentle fun of his newly sensitive side. She wiped the knife off with her finger,  
  
"You sure you don't want some of this? It's good! I mean not salsa good but..."  
  
He might have misunderstood her tone, but he didn't think so. Risked a step forward, a hand on the counter top.  
  
"I don't know. Is it sweet?"  
  
He saw her falter, the heat rise in her cheeks, the eyelashes go down. Was she scared of him suddenly? He felt a miserable lump begin to form in his throat, moved back a little. But then there it was again, the tilt of the head, that sparkle in her eye that couldn't be misinterpreted, could it?  
  
"Sort of. It's sort of...bitter sweet."  
  
God, this was like fucking medieval torture. His heart felt like it was going to jump right out of his chest, hammering behind his ribcage like a wild thing. Was she thinking the same thing he was? He thought he knew but then he didn't, couldn't tell if it was just hope trying to make something out of absolutely nothing. But if she wasn't, if she didn't, what the hell was she doing now? The hand coming out to his face, the finger still coated with cheesecake and now finding his lips, softly parting them. He found he'd lost all control of reason, stood there watching her face, her eyes hugely brown and luminous as he gently, slowly, sucked the tip clean, let her draw it back, glistening. Found his voice again finally, but no words.  
  
"Sweet. Am I right?"  
  
Was she asking him that, because maybe it was the voice in his head, the one he could hear over the roar, telling him to start breathing again before he passed out. He was pretty sure it was her, tried to answer.  
  
"Mm hm."  
  
Were they even words? Was that intelligible at all? He felt the blood returning slowly to his legs, his vision become a tad less blurry. Was this even happening or had he fallen asleep with the 'Magic Fingers' going again? Dawn's perky little voice yanked him back to reality,  
  
"Is that everyone's? You not having any Spike? Sorry, William?"  
  
And how was it she could look so innocent now? All serene and blondie curls, as if butter wouldn't melt in her hot little....  
  
"He only wanted a taste. He'll try some another time."  
  
And not even a look with that last one. They swirled out, the two Summers, bearing heaped plates for their other guests, not a backward glance to see why he wasn't following, why he remained firmly pressed against their kitchen counter top.  
  
"Hey, Spike...I mean....er...Spwilliam...is there any maple syrup left out there?"  
  
Idiot Xander and his insatiable sweet tooth. He glanced around, desperately, dreading the moment when everyone would pour back into the kitchen, discover his predicament. He spotted the syrup. And now what?  
  
"Ye...ah!"  
  
God, did that sound as odd to their ears as it did to his?  
  
"I'll be...er...right there."  
  
He looked around again, frantically searching for a tray, oven mitt, anything, glanced back at his trousers. Bloody hell. That bloody sadistic little minx. How much longer before this thing went down? 


	8. Relapse (Xander, Buffy & Spike)

8.  
  
She could smell his skin. Warm and salty with just a hint of soap to it. And over that, the faintest touch of washing powder from the linen shirt he was wearing.  
  
She tried to remember how he'd smelt before. She thought faintly of earth, damp earth and leather. Occasionally there was something else too, a dry iron-filings smell that made her skin creep, set her teeth on edge, a scent that clung all over him. The smell of blood.  
  
She drew a breath, slowly, filling her lungs with it. The new smell of Spike. Closed her eyes. It smelt like sunshine, like newly-washed sheets hung out to dry in a breeze. Better than fresh coffee or warm bread, better than...she opened her eyes and he was looking at her with the ghost of a pure-Spike smile.  
  
"Are you O.K?"  
  
Oh my God. Had she...was she just sniffing him? She felt colour rising up through her face, fought to keep it down, below the top of her polo-neck.  
  
"No....I mean yes, sorry. Getting one of those...summer cold things."  
  
His eyes widened a fraction, the smile turning to mock-serious concern.  
  
"In October. You have to watch those. Could turn into...you know...the fall variety."  
  
Damn him. Him and his stupid Spike-ability to tell when she was lying, when she was thinking...stuff...she shouldn't be thinking about. It didn't mean anything anyway, she was sure. That other night, with the cheesecake- finger thing, that was just...it was just a silly joke. The sort of thing friends do all the time. Although obviously not the sort of thing she'd ever do with Willow...or to Xander. It was just, they were just kidding around, although...she felt an involuntary shiver as she remembered the feel of his lips closing over the tip of her index finger, the soft touch of his tongue as he...jeez. Get a hold of yourself. She snuck another glance at him, saw he was smiling again.  
  
"Are we almost there?"  
  
God, when had her voice developed that intensely irritating nasal quality? She sounded like Dawn. Xander turned his head, gave her a look of incredulous irritation.  
  
"Will you quit asking me that! I told you. About another five minutes."  
  
He turned back to the road, shook his head.  
  
"For Pete's Sake, it's less than ten miles! You're acting like you've been back there all day."  
  
It felt like it. She'd wanted to spend time with him, she'd told him that. Time to get to know each other again, feel each other out. Without the feeling part. But this? This was too much time. And too little space. Cramped together in the back seat of Xander's car surrounded by lumber, her thigh crushed against his hip and every bend forcing them closer still. Her hand slipping on the sweaty vinyl, sending her sprawling into his lap every five minutes.  
  
"What do you need all this wood for anyway? Don't we still have the other wood...the wood that we got last week and also the wood...that was the shop and the shelves?"  
  
"I've used it all. Besides I wanted to add a few things, you know...improve on the original. Anya wants a new area for talismans, plus the whole black arts section has to come out and that wall shored up. Then there's the new counter and...."  
  
"Hey look! World's Largest Onion!"  
  
And then silence. She thought she heard Xander softly grind his molars. Spike continued to point until the sign was long out of sight.  
  
"So.....much wood needed is what you're saying. Good. Wood is good."  
  
She'd just make it worse, trying to cover for him. The tension was there again, always threatening whenever it was just the three of them. Xander forever acutely aware of the residual Spikeness, the possibility of a sudden lapse. And you'd think the addition of a soul might have effected his intuition, help him to sense when he'd over-stepped the mark. She watched him with narrowed eyes. That innocent look was so studied. Who did he think he was kidding? Xander cleared his throat, signalled, took the next exit labelled Sunnydale. Spike rolled down his window.  
  
What was this all about anyway. No one had asked him to come. Xander needed some help loading the car up? She was there, she was all the help he would ever need. But Spike? What was his story? Xander might be dealing with his reappearance in a startlingly adult fashion but he still wasn't exactly hankering after his company, and she knew the feeling was entirely mutual.  
  
Was it a ploy maybe? An excuse to spend time with her? They hadn't seen much of him this week, what with his trying to organise somewhere permanent to live and their visiting Willow. Maybe he'd missed her. She glanced over again. He had his head fully out the window now, eyes closed. Maybe not. Maybe he just liked cars.  
  
Thank God. They'd passed Sunnydale High. Almost home.  
  
"You guys want to come in? Dawn'll be back soon, we were going to order pizza."  
  
She thought she saw Xander waver, his eyes flicking to the rear view, seeing Spike's interest,  
  
"Ah...you know....thanks, but I won't. I promised Anya I'd massage her ankles tonight."  
  
Was that a snort? She wished to God he'd try a little harder to control himself.  
  
"O.K. Well...I'll see you tomorrow then. Bright and....reasonably early."  
  
He pulled into the kerb,  
  
"Yeah. Put those Slayer muscles to work."  
  
Silence. The engine idled. They looked at each other. Blank.  
  
"You'll have to get out. This side....I can't get over the wood."  
  
God, what was wrong with him? It was like he was in a coma or something. Was he on medication or something?  
  
"Oh...sorry..."  
  
opened the door, climbed out, let her out after him. Stood with door open. More silence. He looked back inside the car, back at her. Did she have to say it? She could see Xander's face in the side view, a look that spoke of brotherly concern and more than a just smattering of teenage jealousy. Was she really going to invite him into the house? To be alone...with just her...and him? Together? When she knew where it could lead? She saw him start to open his mouth, ask Spike where he wanted to be dropped.  
  
"So do you want... are you coming in? I mean...Dawn'll be back in a while...but we could...do...something...until she...does?"  
  
God, that sounded...wierd. Xander rolled his eyes. Stow it Xander. This is my life, my house. I'll do what I want. If I want to ask an ex-vampire into my home, I can. And if I want to feed him cheesecake, let him suck my fingers. Jeez, what was this? She knew what it felt like. Like she was asking him on a date or something. What was the deal here? And now he was frowning as well. Confusing the hell out of her.  
  
"O.K, well... I'll see you...both."  
  
and Xander was gone, pulling away a little too hastily, leaving them both a touch self-conscious. She found her pockets, stuffed her hands into them.  
  
"Right. O.K then."  
  
Shit. Was he just going to stand there now? This was insane. One minute he was there on her doorstep, wanting to go for a ride, anywhere with her, the next...he looked like he'd rather go have root canal work. Maybe it was Xander he wanted. That was it. He wanted Xander. She shook herself out of it, started up the path. And now he wasn't following. She turned and saw him looking at her. Unreadable. He was always unreadable these days.  
  
"I always used to know what you were thinking."  
  
And sometimes she just forgot who he was now. She couldn't just say this sort of thing to him anymore. He smiled a little, quizzical.  
  
"Now?"  
  
God, he was making this hard. Couldn't they just talk about normal stuff? TV, Dawn. Did it all have to be like this still? The questions? The soul- searching? The tortured love?  
  
"Now...I can't tell. I wish I could."  
  
He inclined his head slightly,  
  
"I could tell you, if you like."  
  
Did she want him to? Did she really wish that? And she knew that wasn't the question he was really asking. He was asking for her permission, permission to feel something for her again. She could sense his wanting to just let go, in exactly the same way she did. Forget everything that had happened in the past between them and just go with this, the thing between them that had been there ever since that first night he returned, human. Different from what they'd had before, but so powerful, even more so than the dark thing, the raw thing that had meant so much to her. And that was what had been stopping her, the strangeness of it, the dizzy sick feeling she got whenever she even thought about kissing him now, letting him touch her, taste her skin. She wanted the new Spike, but...God this was hard to admit to herself. She was still a little in love with the old.  
  
Could she tell him that. Could she? And if she could, what would that mean? He wanted the old Spike gone. He'd burnt the coat. He'd told her to call him William. And she'd called him...what was it...'a souless, evil creature'. And now what? Tell him that's what she wanted? He took a step or two towards her now and she wondered if he sensed her confusion or was that another vampire trait that had fallen by the wayside, along with the super-strength, the incredibly acute hearing? What else was different about him?  
  
He was just inches away, but still safe. No threat here. But she could smell him again, that clean, new smell that made her face heat up. Was the Slayer blushing now? Trying desperately to retain some of the cool poise he was exhibiting, while her hands mashed the lining of her pockets to a sweaty pulp.  
  
"Most of the time I'm thinking how much I want to kiss you."  
  
She felt her stomach twisting in knots, wanting to shut him up, shove him away, pull him close, all things at once.  
  
"But just then? I was wondering...how much longer Dawn was really going to be."  
  
And that was it. Even if her brain couldn't make up her mind for her, his mouth would. Leaned into him, found his lips and then the rush, crazy blood pounding it's way up through her temples, making her legs buckle, her whole stomach filling with warmth as his hands found her hips, pulled her in.  
  
Fleeting thought. They were on the porch, in broad daylight.  
  
And then the rush again as his hand came up to her breast, pushed her back again the door. He broke, breathing hard, eyes vivid blue like the sky behind him.  
  
"Want to know what I'm thinking now?"  
  
They were half way up the stairs now, he was underneath, hands under her t- shirt, sliding over her back, her breasts again, pulling her down to him.  
  
Another thought. They were right in front of the door. Dawn could walk in any minute.  
  
And then he was on his feet, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands locked under her, her hands in his hair, down between them to his fly. Against the wall, knocking the pictures sideways. She started to laugh, found he was too, found his lip, pulled it into her mouth, tasted salty blood. Shoved him down to the floor with her whole weight, ripped the shirt open, the buttons off.  
  
Were they going to do it right here? On the rug? In front of her Mom's room? In front of Dawn's? And then up again, backing along the hall, still pulling at each other's clothes, his shirt off, her's, and then bare- breasted against his chest, dragging at his jeans, dragging at her's, his mouth hungry on her's, her whole body going into a full-on melt down as she pushed him back onto her bed. One arm looped up around her neck, bringing her face down to him again, a hand on one hip, pulling her on top and then....god in heaven. Staring down into his beautiful face, as his eyes closed, her mouth came open wordlessly. Fingers catching in her hair, finding her hips again, thumbs pressing down as the unmistakable sound of the back door opening reached both their ears.  
  
"Buffy! You back? Is it OK if I come up and use your CD player?"  
  
And the sound of teenage feet on stairs and both scrambling for the door, like a bizarre naked wheelbarrow race, his hand going for the handle, her foot kicking out, simultaneous shouts,  
  
"No...Dawn...no...you..."  
  
And she knew she must have seen, because that look on her face, in the split second, caught in the inch wide gap just before it slammed shut. They lay on the rug, limbs twisted impossibly, her legs still firmly locked around the small of his back. Panting.  
  
Small voice on the other side.  
  
"Or I could...you know....come and...play my CD later."  
  
A couple of footsteps. Her own door opening,  
  
"When you aren't having crazy naked sex with Spike." 


	9. Poetry Emotion (Buffy & Spike)

9.  
  
How were they going to play this one?  
  
He perched on the edge of the bed, knit his fingers. Listened to the water running in the shower. Was this a good sign? The look on her face after Dawn's inopportune appearance had told him, unequivocally no. Shame. Of the totally crippling variety and then, straight into the shower, as if the smell of him on her skin suddenly repulsed her. On the scale of one to ten he have to give it...sod all.  
  
He'd known it was a mistake, had from the second he'd gotten out of the car, stood in front of her house knowing he wanted her, that she wanted him just as much. Knew it. God, in the car, he'd caught her sniffing him, the exact same look on her face as he had on his every time she came within ten yards of him. Wanting to taste her skin. Had only just managed to stop himself throwing her down then, taking her on Harris's clammy vinyl seats while the idiot watched them goggle-eyed in the rear view mirror.  
  
He'd wanted her with every breath, felt the gut-crunching ache ever time he had to see her. But now...like this? This was too fast, too soon, and too much like the old thing, the insane need thing. What the hell had happened? One minute they'd been talking, the next thing he knew he had his mouth clamped over her nipple. Had he even asked her permission...to do that? What had happened to taking his time? Building something with her, before....he heard the water shut off.  
  
Finally. She'd been in there a long time.  
  
  
  
******  
  
How was she going to handle this?  
  
She leaned her forehead against the cold tile, let the hot water slide down her neck, between her shoulder blades. Her skin still felt like it was vibrating, hyper-sensitised by his hands, the feeling of his thumbs pressing down into....god, enough! Every time she thought she had this under control, the thoughts slipped out of her, making her spine feel as if it was made of silly-putty. She could be doing the most mundane things, turning the burgers at work and suddenly... the feeling of his lips as he crushed his mouth against her, his hands gripping her upper arms, pinning her...and then...there was the burnt meat. Sophie had told her she looked as if she was comatose,  
  
"Your eyes sorta shut and then your pupils start going like you're in r.e.m sleep or something. One time...your mouth hung open and you actually drooled."  
  
"I...drooled? I did not drool!"  
  
"You did. It went on the hot-plate. That's against Health and Safety."  
  
What the hell was wrong with her? That first night with him...it was like he'd flicked a switch inside her, found a setting she didn't even know existed. Right above one for 'fantastic' and two for 'earth-shattering'. She doubted it even had a label...possibly something unpronounceable. Remembered that line from 'Spinal Tap', smiled a little and ran a hand over her tingling belly, shut off the water. Spike was definitely one louder.  
  
******  
  
And it wasn't as if he hadn't been making an effort.  
  
The cold shower had become a twice daily occurrence. He tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible, even taken to wearing restrictive underwear in a vain attempt to keep himself under some kind of physical restraint. This week, he'd deliberately started pulling the phone out of the wall before he went to bed, knowing that the temptation to call her was always strongest in the middle of the night.  
  
When he thought about it he couldn't honestly imagine how he could have taken it any slower, been more circumspect. Everything he'd done, had said, had been purposely engineered to let her feel safe from him. To let her know that he was willing to take his time, was capable of patience.  
  
He mashed his knuckles into his eyes with sudden despair. Although...the sucking the nipple thing...that might have given her the wrong impression.  
  
God, he'd fucked it up.  
  
******  
  
Christ, and now...she'd really fucked it up.  
  
She wrapped the towel around her hips, palmed some moisturiser, smoothed it onto her upper arms, her throat. He'd be so guarded, so quiet ever since he'd been back. The human part of him so pink and new, so vulnerable to pain. She'd sensed his trepidation, his need to take it slow, be gentle with her and how had she responded to that? By tearing the buttons off his shirt and shoving him into the carpet.  
  
He was right. She was an animal. The switch he'd thrown, it'd changed her forever and now she wasn't sure, didn't know if she could ever be satisfied any other way. And what if that wasn't what he wanted now, what William wanted? After all he hadn't instigated that...display before. He'd wanted to make love to her and what was that? She had always thought she knew, that she wanted tenderness. But safe, warm human sex...versus insane thigh- inflaming vampire love? Her eyes snapped open. God...Sophie was right...she did drool.  
  
******  
  
He lay full length on her bed, buried his face in the indentation her head had made, breathed deep, tasted her. God, now there was drool on her pillow. He turned over, put his hands behind his head. Looked around.  
  
Such a girly room for so experienced a woman.  
  
He rolled over to her bedside table, inspected the pictures of Willow and Xander, her Mom, the tiny passport sized one of her, aged six, and her Dad. Git.  
  
A silver pocket watch he recognised as having once been Giles. He held it to his ear, solid tick, good quality British craftsmanship. Put it back. Her crucifix nancy-boy had given her. And under it, a folded sheet of cream paper that seemed strangely familiar, a little singed at the edges. He slid it out, opened it.  
  
His own hand-writing sprang out at him from the page, unmistakable with it's black spiderweb hand, his favourite pen, long-since lost in the unfortunate grenade incident. He felt his face heat up as he recognised the poem.  
  
Bloody hell. Where had she found this?  
  
******  
  
"It was in your crypt. Clem found it when he was sorting through...stuff. He thought ...he asked me if I'd like to have it."  
  
His voice sounded strange, strained,  
  
"Did he now. How thoughtful of him."  
  
Oh God, was he pissed off? She couldn't tell but she thought she recognised the trademark huffiness, the fake-nonchalant arch of his brows.  
  
"Don't be mad at him. I mean...he thought...I mean you did write it for me?"  
  
No, it wasn't anger. God, he was embarrassed. Really squirming. She should have thought. Stupid Buffy.  
  
It had been private. Just like him reading her diary. Knowing all her most intimate thoughts, about him, stuff that she'd never ever utter aloud to a living soul, the things she'd thought about after she left him naked, came home in the dark, crept into bed. She felt her own colour rising as she remembered phrases she'd written, glanced at him, her face mirroring his own. She sat down on the edge of the bed,  
  
"I wouldn't have read it if I'd known it was...private. I'm sorry."  
  
A small nod, he knew. Didn't really help though. Couldn't unread it. She frowned, reached a hand out, caught his fingers, took it back.. Unfolded it.  
  
******  
  
God, she wouldn't!  
  
Please don't let her read it aloud.  
  
He didn't think he could stand that, thought his head might implode. Bad enough that she'd read it at all without having to listen to his mawkish syllables on her own lips. Bloody Clem. He didn't buy the 'clearing stuff out' bollocks for one second. He'd known exactly what he was doing. Knew how Buffy would feel about a poem.  
  
Big loose-skinned bloody stirrer. He might be a old romantic but he knew nothing about poetry, if he had he certainly wouldn't have done it. Wouldn't have put her in the position of having to suffer his diabolical couplets. Pretend to like them. So stupid, so clumsy...  
  
******  
  
"It's so beautiful."  
  
She let her eyes skim over again it for maybe the hundredth time, then looked back at his face. Why did he seem so surprised? She flushed,  
  
"Sorry, I mean... no one's ever written anything like this...for me before."  
  
He cleared his throat, managed to summon enough energy to take it back.  
  
"It's just...a...it isn't finished really. I didn't mean anyone to ever.."  
  
His gaze locked with her's and there was real fear. What was he so afraid of? Did he think she would laugh at him? Tell him he was a sentimental idiot? Make fun of his beautiful words, the sincerest most flattering description of herself she'd ever read? What sort of person would do that? She reached a hand to his face, traced his cheekbone.  
  
"Read it to me."  
  
God, if he'd looked terrified before, now he looked as if he about to crawl out of his skin. Folded the paper tight, four times, crushed it into his pocket. But she took it from him, prised his fingers gently, smoothed it, flattened it out. Placed it in his lap.  
  
"Read it to me."  
  
She let herself slide forward onto her elbows, rested her chin, sharp, on his thigh. He was staring at her now as if she was insane, but he didn't fold it again, didn't put it away. She reached out, touched the sheet with one finger.  
  
"Read it."  
  
He blinked twice, gave a little shake of his head. She thought she heard him grit his teeth just before he cleared his throat to begin.  
  
"Filled with light, my dark beloved,  
  
Tho' still my heart, my love uncovered.  
  
Her beauty bright as sun forgotten,  
  
Her eyes to gems, as silk to cotton."  
  
He stopped, his expression excuisitely pained.  
  
"Buffy...it's..."  
  
"The next part...I like the next part"  
  
He swallowed audibly, read on,  
  
"Miraculous the sound of feet  
  
could cause this empty heart to beat,  
  
that lips could spell, each kiss a letter,  
  
end to a life that death made better.  
  
That wondrous touch on silent chest,  
  
Could bring at last, eternal rest.  
  
That love could change that quiet place,  
  
that hope be written in a face."  
  
He glanced at her, saw her eyes close, lashes fluttering as he said the last part from memory,  
  
"The balm to lonely, cold damnation,  
  
My sanctuary, my one salvation,  
  
Her body - altar, her voice my prayer,  
  
My one. My love. My own. My Slayer."  
  
He folded the paper slowly, deliberately, put it back on her night-stand. Watched her now, warily. She drew a deep breath, opened her eyes,  
  
"Has anyone ever told you that you write beautiful poetry?"  
  
Caught off guard, he nodded.  
  
"Dru did once. But I don't think she was entirely impartial at the time."  
  
She raised her eyebrows, a question mark,  
  
"Just before she killed me."  
  
"Not quite the response you were after?"  
  
Was this O.K now? Was he going to be all right about this? She caught his eye, saw some residual discomfort.  
  
"It's O.K. Really. I'm glad...you read it. Glad you liked it..."  
  
She buried her face in his thigh, let his hand rest on the nape of her neck, warming it.  
  
"Didn't like it."  
  
She risked a glance at him, saw his pained face, the William face, the one that made her heart hurt, would always.  
  
But it was Spike too. More Spike than Spike. And it was all right. The part of him, the part she recognised, it was still there. She hadn't lost him at all. He'd just been misplaced...under all that newness. Smiled, buried her face again, muffling her voice,  
  
"Loved it." 


	10. Backward Shadow (Willow & Spike)

10.  
  
It was nice out here still.  
  
No Winter chill just yet, though it hadn't exactly been an Indian Summer this year. Not that she would know. Hadn't seen much of it cooped up in the land of the nut job. She chastised herself silently...no, that was unkind. The land of the...mentally unavailable. She sighed, turned the next page of the book she wasn't exactly reading.  
  
God, she wanted to go home. She wondered how much longer it would be before she could convince them that she was ready now, that she was no longer 'a danger to society and to herself'. Of course if they knew the real truth, the real extent of her actions, she was sure that time would be never. But she had been saved from all that, about the only time the intervention of The Watcher's Council had been a welcome one. She had Giles to thank for her impending reintroduction to society, Giles who she had always looked up to, regarded as the father she would rather have had, Giles who had saved her life, Giles who she had almost killed with a variety of serrated weapons. She shook her head in sudden anguish, flipped another page. She shouldn't think of that, he'd told her not to. It only made things worse, things that could never, would never be changed now. Besides, those memories weren't hers. They didn't belong. That was the other Willow.  
  
At times she felt as if her whole personality had been fractured, all the dark thoughts, the badness, the spite and jealousy that she had so often felt but refused to allow herself to externalise, had been channelled into the other Willow. As Xander had so adeptly put it,  
  
"Like Superman...in Superman III, when he goes all bad and grimey 'cos of the tar in the kryptonite that Richard Pryor makes?"  
  
He'd tried to make light of it and, ironically, it was the only thing that did. Xander and his constant, all-abiding cheerfulness and expansive love. She smiled sadly, he would always loved her, had proved that to her in the most spectacular fashion possible, but no matter how hard he tried, he would never understand how it felt. How the guilt and grief ate at her still, despite Tara's forgiveness. Sometimes she didn't think there was anyone who could.  
  
"Is this seat taken?"  
  
She shielded her eyes from late afternoon sun, surprised that anyone else would want to be out here. The young man dropped onto the bench next to her and she started in surprise as she recognised the angular profile, so incongruous in direct sunlight.  
  
"Bit chilly. Wouldn't you be better off inside?"  
  
She turned back to her book, uncertain what to say. Had he come hoping to bump into Buffy? Or maybe he was thinking she'd be grateful to him for bringing her the stone, that it would mend some bridges.  
  
"I could fetch you a jumper?"  
  
All right, this was just weird,  
  
"If you're looking for Buffy...she left about two hours ago."  
  
He was watching her, squinting a little at the brightness of the sunset,  
  
"Oh. Right then."  
  
She looked back at him, studying his face now, trying to see if there were any visual clues, anything physical that marked a difference. He'd put on a little weight, but that was hardly surprising, he'd been living on a meagre diet of pig's blood and Weetabix for almost three years, calories in that had to be pretty low. Nice though, added a bit of bulk to him, this last year he'd begun to look tired, almost haggard. Although that was probably more due to emotional torment rather than a lack of fresh haemoglobin. And his hair was brown now. She screwed up her nose, didn't like that as much.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your hair...I think I preferred it before."  
  
He rolled his eyes, felt for his cigarettes, seemed a little irritated to find them gone.  
  
"They don't let you anyway."  
  
She indicated a 'no smoking sign' nearby, settled back for a good, long stare. He didn't seem to mind anyway, smiled a little, stared back. Buffy was right, he was wholly different and not just in a surface way. There was something in his eyes that she was certain had never been there, although she had to admit she'd never made a habit of staring deep into them before. Was it his soul she could see? Or just the absence of something else?  
  
"Is it quiet in there?"  
  
He raised his eyebrows, evidentally no one had asked him that before.  
  
"Sometimes. Other times..." he shook his head, "There's stuff to deal with, you know?"  
  
She nodded. She did.  
  
"I mean I'm not saying I'm going to go all Dark Avenger or anything and I still think he goes way overboard on the whole smouldering martyr bit, but I am starting to understand what he was talking about. About feeling he had to pay, to suffer..."  
  
"Angel?"  
  
"Yeah,"  
  
It was almost as if the sound of his name caused pain,  
  
"When the gypsies did that to him, he tried to pretend it didn't make a difference at first. He came on the hunt, you know, like always. At first he was worse than ever, he'd kill anything that moved, that tried to speak to him, but gradually...he changed. One night I caught him crying over this young girl he'd killed, he just couldn't do it anymore. Being a vampire, it's as if the whole world is yours, everything is offered to you on a plate, you can take what you want without... Being given a soul..."  
  
he focused, trying to understand,  
  
"It's like someone suddenly tuned it in. Like a radio. All the pain, the grief, all the blood and the terror. Everything I ever did, it's there whenever I close my eyes."  
  
She swallowed hard, found herself wanting to reach for his hand.  
  
"But that wasn't you! I mean not the real you, the now you. It was the demon that was...inside you. It's not as if you could have..."  
  
"Stopped myself? Isn't that what I'd been doing ever since that stuck that thing in my head? Sure, the headaches were a bitch, but in the end, that wasn't what stopped me from feeding."  
  
"It wasn't?"  
  
He seemed weary now, as if just talking about it had put himself back there. Into the mind of the demon that had inhabited him for so long,  
  
"I knew there must be something else. Something better than being dead."  
  
She couldn't stop herself from smiling at that one,  
  
"Well, you know...many things are."  
  
"What things?"  
  
She stared at him again. What was he trying to say? That being a demon was preferable to being alive? That he wanted out already?  
  
"Spike...there are hundreds of things! Hundreds!"  
  
He crossed his arms, fixed her with that razor blue stare. She frowned, angry at him for being so darned obtuse.  
  
"Well, for Pete's Sake! There's..." she looked around, "The sky! I mean...look at that sky, you can't tell me that's not worth something. The sun...you're telling me you don't love waking up to see the sun every day now? And saying 'Hello Mr Sunshine'?"  
  
He snorted,  
  
"Who are you? Pollyanna? Gimme something I can work with here."  
  
"Okay, Mr Negative!" she knew she was hitting a home-run with this one, "Food! You're not telling me you don't love how everything tastes now, I mean, compared with the blood?"  
  
He shrugged a little, grudgingly,  
  
"I'm not denying that my life has been enriched by certain...name brands, but you have to realise, to a vamp...blood is filet mignon washed done with the finest cabernet."  
  
She grimaced, did he have to be so...descriptive. And was he saying that he'd done this whole 'getting a soul' thing for no good reason? That it was a bust? Being evil was better? Because if he was, she knew that wasn't strictly true. There had been a reason. Was one.  
  
"And Buffy?"  
  
His gaze was steady now,  
  
"What about her?"  
  
"I mean...didn't you do this for her? Isn't being with her better than...you know...grrrrrrr?"  
  
She had him there. He looked at her, questioning,  
  
"And if I can't be with her? What then? What else do I have to live for?"  
  
Willow studied him with growing concern. Where was all this coming from? Had he talked to Buffy about this, because, from the vibes her friend had been giving off lately, it seemed that she was completely captivated with the new Spike, albeit in constant denial. Everything seemed to be going so well in the crazy realm of romance...but maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe they'd tried to mend the fences and it had failed and Spike, William, had walked away. His heart broken. His thoughts turning, once again, to....oh, this could be bad.  
  
"What...else have you got?"  
  
Her mind raced, how to help him? What to say? He'd lost the reason for his existence, he suffered night and day for the pain he'd inflicted. Was he right? Was death the comfy alternative? She didn't believe that, couldn't and then it came to her with sudden clarity,  
  
"Then I guess...you just have...you."  
  
He seemed to take that in, nodded slowly.  
  
"And eventually, when you can forgive yourself, you can try to make a difference. Not like Angel maybe, but you can help people. You have...many skills. And there's Dawn! She really loves you and she needs you. And you have a lot of people who rely on you, not all friends..." she saw his face, "...yet, but someday, who knows. You matter. You're a person now, William. Perhaps you can even be a good one."  
  
He smiled and after a second or two got to his feet, stared off into the sunset,  
  
"Maybe you're right."  
  
She watched him narrow his eyes a little, thought how kind his face seemed now, how much more relaxed. She was glad she'd been able to help him. It had been a long time since she had felt so valued, so understood.  
  
"So you think...you'll be O.K?"  
  
He pulled on his jacket, brushed the dead leaves off the back. Looked back at her, frowned,  
  
"Oh, I'll be fine."  
  
and set off across the lawn towards the trees, his shadow, cast long and narrow by the setting sun, gradually disappearing amongst them. His last line, said so soft, she didn't even hear it.  
  
"Just wanted to know if you would be." 


	11. Teething Trouble (Xander & Anya)

11.  
  
"What do you think about Azazeal?"  
  
"Ah...don't know. Does it come with extra cheese?"  
  
Xander's brow furrowed but his gaze didn't waver. He'd been firmly attached to the latest edition of the 'Justice League' for the last three hours. She wondered what on earth he found so fascinating about all those brightly coloured pictures of overdeveloped men in spandex, she wondered and she worried. He hadn't looked at her all morning and that in itself was grounds for divorce, if they'd ever actually gotten married that is. Which of course was his fault as well. In fact she wouldn't put it past him to have avoided marriage simply so as she couldn't divorce him at times like this. Yes. Very clever. Very, very clever Xander Harris. She buttered an English muffin venomously, trying to make the sound of the knife as intrusive as possible and when that didn't work, threw the utensil at the wall. Finely attuned to her moods as always, he raised his head,  
  
"I'm sorry Honey...did you say something?"  
  
She smiled tightly,  
  
"No."  
  
And that was just typical. Any life-partner worth his salt would have realised that she was just covering. Trying to be nice when what she actually wanted to do was....  
  
"I feel like screaming."  
  
The head came up again, this time a slightly more nervous look,  
  
"Well, I...ah...guess that's natural. Pent up emotions and all that. Although, obviously not something I'd enjoy....a great deal of."  
  
"And I miss Giles."  
  
she slumped over the table,  
  
"Why did he have to go back so soon. It's rains there, constantly. And he always so kind to me. And he says such nice things about how pretty I look and...and how I'm 'glowing'."  
  
"You are glowing Honey. Sometimes I think you actually strobe."  
  
She fixed him with a look that made him want to grab his coat and head for the nearest exit,  
  
"It's not funny Xander. Pregnancy makes me feel all....weak and needy. I hate it."  
  
********  
  
That did it. The guilt gate was wide open now and he was getting it full force. All the stuff about her ankles and her back and the way her nipples chafed so badly all the time. And the sickness and the nausea...well, strictly speaking that had mostly been on his side. The moods were the worst, if he'd thought she was 'temperamental' before? If he actually used the word 'temperamental'? He firmly believed that it would be the last thing he would ever hear.  
  
But he could take it. In the end it seemed like a small price to pay for so much of the good stuff in between, not to mention what was ahead. He watched her leafing through the baby name book again, one hand resting on her forehead, the other idly dangling half a muffin, dripping butter on his security-deposit...sorry...rug. And she was a dream come true. All golden curls and rose-bud lips...  
  
"Aha! And you told me 'Alexander' meant 'stallion'! Another Harris fabrication!"  
  
and razor tongue. He stifled a sigh, knowing how it would be construed, made for the bathroom.  
  
And this was pretty much the routine these days. They got up early on Saturdays to enjoy a rare breakfast together and ended up in a mild sniping match, Anya always the victor, with him slowly bringing up the rear, yet again crushed beneath the boot heel of the mighty 'impregnation guilt'. It was his seed that had made her this way, his overzealous need to have 'make- up sex' at least three or four times a day that first week. His total lack of concern when he'd discovered they were out of prothelactics. She still threw the words back at him sometimes...  
  
"Hey...you've only just become human again. What's the likelihood?"  
  
But they were happy. He knew they were...really...underneath all the....well, he was happy anyway. And he knew she would be too. When she held that little baby in her arms, felt the joy of motherhood, the reality of the new life they had created, the twinge of pain as they stitched her up. See...that last part was hers, he was sure. God, she was started to infiltrate his brain now. In a really disturbing kinda way.  
  
********  
  
He was hiding from her again, she could feel it. Sometimes she felt like hiding from her too, but that was impossible unless she drank gin. Gin had always been a very effective means of self-denial. But now that escape route was closed to her too. Nothing to do except grin and bear it. And scream. She experimented with a small one. Not particularly satisfying. Maybe she'd go down to the bottom of the stairwell later, really let one go. She flicked through the book of names again, looked up Buffy, felt an involuntary spasm of horror at just the sight of the words.  
  
"Oh my God....Xander! Did you realise that...that Buffy is derived from....'Bunny or little rabbit'? That's hideous! Like being called 'succubus' or 'entrails' or something? Do you think she knows? Xander?"  
  
He wasn't answering, too involved in his manly shaving ritual no doubt. She shuddered again and riffled through to the boys. Bound to be less rodents there.  
  
Rupert: Bright Fame. That was nice, sort of fitting. He was intelligent and, although not a household name, was pretty well thought of in certain circles. Not the sort of title you'd give a child though. Maybe a Pug or a Golden Retriever. She found William. Hmmm...resolute guardian. She wondered how Buffy would feel about that one. Less the guardian...more the stalker maybe? Although, being fair, that didn't really seem to be his bag these days. What with the all-new soul and everything, he'd changed a lot. The hair being one of the less attractive alterations. He seemed kinder, more thoughtful, her brow creased as she remembered the way he'd taken her bags off her in the street the day before, insisted on carrying them all the way home. Xander could do with a little more of that. Plus the abs. He could really do with the abs as well. She frowned at the book and threw it down, stomped over to the bathroom, opened the door, scowled and dropped unceremoniously onto the toilet.  
  
********  
  
"Anyanka isn't even in there. It's not even a real name. That stupid book doesn't even have a demon section. How are you supposed to find anything suitable?"  
  
He perched on the bath next to her, kissed her nose.  
  
"How about Xanya...or Anyander? Like when old people name their beach houses?"  
  
She rubbed her face with the back of one hand, wiped away the kiss, but the scowl was gone,  
  
"Anyander Harris. I don't like it. She sounds like a romance novelist."  
  
"She?"  
  
She shrugged,  
  
"Or he. I'm easy. As long as he has my eyes...and your upper arms...."  
  
He kissed her again, resumed shaving,  
  
"Of course it could be a Quantecaust."  
  
"A what-e-what?"  
  
She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his lack of knowledge,  
  
"A Quantecaust. A changeling child placed in the womb of a slumbering woman by tiny hedgehog-like demons with big hands. It's quite common."  
  
He felt the blood draining from his face, good, that meant less for the razor.  
  
"And do you think...that might have happened?"  
  
She looked blank, felt around for the toilet paper,  
  
"You mean did I experience a sharp prickling sensation just prior to conception?"  
  
He nodded. Had he just nodded?  
  
"No, I don't remember anything like that. Just....the usual pleasant numbness."  
  
Gadzooks, so why did she torture him like this? All the talk about changelings and reptiles, all while he was still reeling from the sight of true demon-face, that weird red skull thing. And he was almost sure he hadn't let her know how much that one had really freaked him out. And it had...really. Still freaking a little here. And the idea of his baby, of their baby, coming out with that face on? That one had been playing in Screen 1 of his mind-multiplex for weeks, sometimes twice nightly. He lathered up again, watched her watching him in the mirror. But who was he kidding? Any child of theirs would be set for life. She was gorgeous. Those big eyes, the elfin face... she belched suddenly, covered her mouth. Yeah...she was pure gold.  
  
********  
  
"Do you think Buffy'll ever settle down?"  
  
It wasn't a trick question, she really wanted to know what he thought. She saw his eyes flick to her, just checking her intent, and then back to the mirror.  
  
"I dunno. Someday...yeah...I suppose. Don't forget the Buffster hasn't exactly been what you might term 'lucky in love'. Relationships with the Slayer are essentially doomed on account of the whole superpower issues, dark-side stuff  
  
"Men are afraid of strong women."  
  
She could see he wasn't going to be rising to that one again,  
  
"Not all men. Some men like a gal who can tote an axe."  
  
"But let's face it, most of them would want naked with that axe. With a side order of skinny and stupid."  
  
That wasn't strictly true. She knew that. Men liked women in all shapes and sizes, as the top shelf of the local paper stand bore witness. But they did all seem to like them naked...and on their backs. And sometimes with large inexplicable black circles over their private parts. Although maybe that was just a fetish thing of some kind. Poor Buffy. She didn't stand a chance with a normal guy. Far too busy with the running and jumping to spend too much time clothesless.  
  
"I wonder what she looks like naked? Do you ever wonder that?"  
  
She saw his hand judder and a satisfying spot of blood appear under the foam,  
  
"Can't say as I have."  
  
Oh right. We know that was the truth. She'd seen his high school note books, the many and varied drawing of a certain person's frame hidden in the back covers. She could see him looking at her, waiting for her to call it and when she didn't he ventured another answer,  
  
"I suppose...I mean I'm guessing she's in pretty good condition, what with the slaying nightly. What...you think she should make a bit more of an effort. Put herself out there?"  
  
"Out where?"  
  
O.K, now she was just being obtuse.  
  
"Weren't you just saying...that she needs a man?."  
  
"A man? Honey, I think you're missing a plot point here. She's already got one of those."  
  
She widened her eyes and he spluttered, fucking up what little was left of his shave.  
  
"What? You mean Spwilliam? The all-new Spike? You've got to be kidding me? That's got the kiss of death from the get-go!"  
  
Tilted his head, looked at himself in the glass, looked at her as she snorted, got to her feet, shuffling her toes back into her hippo slippers.  
  
"You're right Xander. Of course. What was I thinking of."  
  
she flung open the door, stalked back to the bedroom,  
  
"An Ex-demon and a human in a meaningful relationship? I mean how long's that going to last." 


	12. Closure (Buffy,Spike and Clem)

12.  
  
They were in her bed, limbs entwined, his flesh warm and sticking to hers under the sheets, fingers tangling in her hair as his lips drew on her, his tongue soft in her mouth, making her dizzy. Her hands cradled his head, pulling him into her, hooking her chin over his shoulder in an effort to hide her face, hide the feelings she was afraid to tell him of...and then....there he was. Standing in the shadows at the foot of the bed. And suddenly she was gasping with the reality of it, the horrible tearing guilt of her betrayal. That he could find her in this bed, making love to William, the bed she had always denied him access to? Her sanctuary, her private place. She felt the tears start to her eyes as she saw his expression, filled with total disbelief and grief, the gravity of what she had done slamming into her like a fist.  
  
"Oh...Spike...no! It isn't...like that...he's just...."  
  
And then scrambling to reach him as he turned with a swirl of black leather, gone into the dark, his figure receding as she desperately fought to free herself from William's gentle grasp, his voice soft and insistent,  
  
"What's wrong? What is it, love?"  
  
And then she was awake again, sweat beaded all over her body. Alone in the darkness.  
  
Every night now for a week the dream had come, sometimes tacked onto the end of a longer one, sometimes in the few seconds she allowed her eyes to close before getting up for work. Always the same dream, always the same expression on his face, always the same feelings of guilt and horror at what she had done, feelings that stayed with her when she awoke, colouring her whole day. She didn't understand it, but she couldn't shake the sensation that she had done something terribly wrong, had caused him pain. It didn't make any sense. William was Spike, Spike was William, they were differences that was certain, but essentially they were the same person. Why was it that she just couldn't seem to marry the two? The vampire and the man.  
  
She lay back on her pillows, blinked her eyes in the gloom, making out the dim outline of her clothes on the chair. The shape of the doorway. It had been so real. A second ago he had been there, just as he had before in the long distant past. A feeling jerking her out of sound sleep to find him standing motionless, at the foot of her bed, always with some excuse, some terrible news or crisis that had to be dealt with and even then she had known. Long before she felt anything but irritation in his presence, the sexual charge between them, so insanely heightened by his ability to enter her bedroom silently at night. Even before she had wanted him.  
  
And to give in to that? To allow the vampire into herself, entirely, that had been the most terrifying, the most erotic thing of all. Giving in to every one of her dark, night time fantasies, feeling herself sinking into him, losing herself in his cool, pale body, letting him absorb her. It had felt like dying and at the same time as if she was being born, every night. She had craved it and loathed it in the same instant. Needed him and hated him, but occasionally...there had been the moments of peace. Just a few times when she had felt the two halves of herself, of him, find their perfect balance. The girl and the slayer, the vampire and the man. She had loved him then. Felt the knowledge enter her as easily as he did, completing her. And then it was gone. He was gone. Lost in a terrible storm of events that had forced her to admit that she had been wrong, that she had been such a fool to ever think they could be together.  
  
She rolled over, let her feet find the rug, padded across the room to her clothes, still a little unsteady. She couldn't go back to sleep, didn't want to think about it anymore. She need to clear her head and as far as she knew there was only one sure-fire way of doing that. She pushed the sash up, slid herself through the open window, down the porch roof, landing both knees bent in a crouch, catlike. What she needed was some late night slayage, a few circuits of Sunnydale's demon hot spots would wipe away any worries she might have. Every bit as effective as hard drugs and without the unpleasant addictive side-effects.  
  
She took off at a sprint, her sneakers making virtually no sound on the tarmac, her breathing rhythmic. Let the muscles in her legs carry her effortlessly and, as a light, humid drizzle began, she lifted her face to it. No sound but the fast, soft pad of her feet on sidewalk, the soft cadence of her heartbeat, the warm dark night enveloping her like an old friend. Took a left on Oakland, heading for the playground, made the length of the road in fifteen, maybe sixteen strides or more.  
  
The swing-set was empty, silent, the seat drifting slowly at the end of it's chains, she slowed, came to a stop by the roundabout. No action here tonight. Usually there was always at least a vamp or two hanging out here, reliving past glories. She trailed a hand along the railing, remembering the night they had come looking for Dawn here, one of the first times she had chosen to be alone with him. Also the first time she ever remembered noticing how human he could seem, so concerned for Dawn's safety, guilty over inadvertently leading her to the truth about herself.  
  
She had apologised to him, told him he had been right, she had been wrong to hide things from her sister and he had shouldered half the blame, said all the things he knew would make her feel better, assured her that Dawn would be fine. That had been the first time he had seemed real to her, a person. It had been the start of the change in her feelings for him. She snatched her hand back from rail. Bad move coming here. Set off again running, pressing herself a little this time. This wasn't what she'd wanted to do, a tour of their haunts, reminisce. She needed not to think. She needed to kill something. Took a left on Kennedy, heading in towards town.  
  
And what about William?  
  
She let her pace slow again as she recognised the stretch of road leading down to the Ramada. He was down there, just two blocks away. Probably up late, reading, he hadn't quite got his whole biological clock thing sorted yet, still found it hard to get to sleep before dawn. Sometimes, towards the end of a patrol she let herself take a detour, spend a few minutes outside before heading home. His room was on the ground floor, near the back and easy to see from the bushes. Twice she'd thought that he had sensed her, saw his head turn slightly in her direction, but then she reminded herself that that was an impossibility now. He wasn't like her in that way. Not any more. No sixth sense that could tell him when his mate was nearby.  
  
So often, she'd watch him, sometimes for up to an hour, as he slowly turned the pages of the paperback he was reading, took the occasional swallow of beer. Sometimes he wrote in a black notebook, but she couldn't see what. A journal maybe? More poems? She considered breaking in when she was sure he wouldn't be around, but uncertainty about his reaction stopped her. She invaded his privacy once, wouldn't make that mistake again. She felt drawn to him, like a magnet to metal, wanted to enter that room, his bed while he slept, be with him, understand the person who was so familiar in some ways, so completely mysterious in so many others.  
  
But she held back. Something always held her back. She turned away from the hotel, headed back along Roseland at a slow jog. He was Spike...and yet, he so wasn't Spike. He was a man now, a human man, no vampire there at all. The occasional fleeting glances of the creature she'd known before came so few and far between, she'd begun to realise that it might all be her imagination. Like when parents see the resemblance between a new baby and themselves. Barely there at all...just wishful thinking.  
  
She shook her head, quickened her pace. There it was again. Wishful thinking? Had she really just thought that? Wishful thinking that William might actually become...the monster again? That the kind, thoughtful man she was growing to care so much for, would suddenly turn on her. She felt a sick feeling in her gut. Spike had told her once that she was addicted to misery, yet another of his astute observations. He had been a part of that misery. William was not. So had he been right then? Did she only want the Spike that caused her pain?  
  
She couldn't believe that of herself. Didn't want to. There'd been a time maybe five years ago when she might have thought it. After Angel, when it seemed that torture and passion would always be inextricably linked for her. Her love for him had been rooted in danger and fantasy, sometimes seeming almost theatrical. She had been so immature then, but the feelings she'd had for him weren't. They overwhelmed her, swamped her with the understanding of what it meant to be the Slayer, to understand her power and acknowledge that most private part of herself. With Angel she had merely tasted it. With Spike, she had welcomed the darkness in.  
  
But it was wrong. She had known that. Balance was needed...otherwise the result was chaos. His lack of a soul had always been the sticking point, the one obstacle she could never allow herself to circumvent. But in the months after his departure, the weeks since his, since William's reappearance, she had begun to suspect a terrible truth. She had recognised the man in Spike, had loved him, but, although she had never allowed herself to trust the demon, the vampire half that had so disturbed and reviled her at first, she had loved him too.  
  
The drizzle began to subside, creating a soft mist that hung over the ground and she realised with only the smallest start of surprise that she had reached the cemetery again. Strange how her Slayer auto-pilot always brought her here if she lost her bearings or if she allowed her mind to wander for more than a few minutes or so. She made her way between the familiar shapes of the gravestones, heading for the crypt.  
  
The door hung open now, the wind making itself at home inside, stirring up the scattering of autumn leaves that covered the floor. She stepped down, let herself drop onto the last stair, smoothed back her damp hair. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Keep coming here like the place might hold some kind of answer for her? She covered her face with her hands. Why couldn't she allow herself this chance of happiness? Why couldn't she move on?  
  
The sound came in the darkness, making her heart leap, made her lose her breath with the sudden onrush of associations that went with it. The sound of a Zippo lighter being flipped open, being lit. A tiny light flared in the furthest corner of the room, illuminating a face, a figure achingly familiar to her, dressed from head to foot in black, a long leather coat drawn close around his narrow frame. Her throat tightened as his hand cupped around a cigarette, brought his head down to light it, revealing the pale shock of his blonde hair that seemed almost to glow in the light of the flame.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
her voice sounded like a little girl's, a slight quaver. She saw his head come back up, close the lighter with a snap,  
  
"Slayer!"  
  
He took a step or two towards her and she found herself scrambling a little in her haste to get to her feet, her back firmly against the wall.  
  
"What are you....doing here? I mean....I thought you'd be at the Ramada..."  
  
She saw his head cock in the darkness, his eyes narrow a little. The cigarette glowed.  
  
"And why would I be there? Convention is there? Annual Vampire Dinner & Dance?"  
  
She frowned,  
  
"No...I mean....you still live there...don't you?"  
  
His laugh was cold, abrupt,  
  
"Live there? What'd I want to live there for? Got this place fixed up pretty good now. Sweet little pad as far as Sunny D goes."  
  
What the hell was going on? Had he snapped, had William snapped? Or worse still? Had he been re-vamped? Since...yesterday? She screwed her eyes shut, shook her head. No, his hair and then there was the coat. He had the coat on, his coat, and she'd seen him burn it, watched as he'd doused the leather with petrol and flamed it. No, it had to be her. She was going mad. God, this was as bad as the asylum thing....so real, not like a dream, like a full-on auditory, olfactory hallucination. She took a breath, opened her eyes again.  
  
"What's up?"  
  
He was looking at her with real concern now, stubbing out the cigarette on the edge of the door. God, please God don't let him touch me. And then his hand came out, stroked the length of her forearm and his touch was cool, sending prickles of ice shooting up her spine. God, why had he done that. She felt her knees starting to give, wanting to let herself go to him.  
  
"So this just a business call? Or will pleasure be involved at some stage?"  
  
He'd moved back a little, pulled himself up to sit on the nearest sarcophagus. She blinked, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. It had to be another dream, like the one she'd been having about...and then it came to her.  
  
Of course, this had to be her mind helping her to come to terms with everything, giving her a chance to see him again, to explain. She gasped with the relief of it. Of course, clever Buffy's Brain! She'd realised subconsciously that she'd needed to see Spike, the old Spike and now here she was. In her own tailor-made illusion. She drew a breath, forced herself to look at him again.  
  
"Spike. There's some stuff I need to tell you."  
  
She saw his eyebrows come up a little, sudden discomfort and she remembered. He had always been so ill-equipped to deal with complex human emotions. She moved towards him and saw him lean back a little, wary of her.  
  
"Hey...look..if it's about the egg thing again...."  
  
She took his hands in her's, felt his surprise as he relaxed a little,  
  
"It's not. There's something I've needed to tell you for a while but....well, you haven't been around and I've been...pretty preoccupied with...other stuff."  
  
He smiled,  
  
"Yeah, well, a Slayer's work is never done."  
  
She nodded slowly,  
  
"Right."  
  
He slid off the plinth, bringing himself face to face with her,  
  
"So what, you come for a bit of time-out?"  
  
She searched his eyes,  
  
"No, I came to tell you." God, this was so hard. "Spike. I love you."  
  
His eyes widened, the mouth dropping open a little in amazement,  
  
"You....?"  
  
"I love you. I don't know...but I think I might always have. You make me feel like a whole person, like I'm really alive for the first time in my life. I look into your eyes and I see the other half of myself. I'm so sorry I could never tell you before now, but there was some stuff I had to work through first, things I had to....come to terms with. But I'm sure now. I just...wanted you to know."  
  
She reached up, let her hand trace his cold cheekbone, kissed him softly on the lips. She felt a tremble go through him and felt herself wanting to hold him against her, wrap herself around him but instead, she turned, walked to the door.  
  
"Buffy!"  
  
He looked utterly confused, awe-struck but at the same time completely elated,  
  
"Aren't you...going to stay?"  
  
She smiled, tried not to let her voice betray the uncertainty she felt,  
  
"No. There's somewhere I've got to be right now. Someone I've got to meet. Maybe..." hope seeped into her last words, "I'll find you....in a little while?"  
  
She turned away from him, walked out into the night, headed slowly back in the direction of her house. Back to the bed where she could end this, wake up to reality, the reality of her life, her future with someone she knew she could begin to accept now.  
  
***********  
  
Behind her the crypt door swung closed and a dark figure shrugged out of the clothes he was wearing, folded Tara's leather coat back into the hold- all that lay hidden behind one of the pillars.  
  
"So you think it worked? She didn't suspect at all?"  
  
Clem's face appeared through the hole in the floor, a worried frown creasing his already heavily rumpled face. William gave a small laugh,  
  
"No, I think it was the hair that did it. Bloody crap's going to be hell to dye out."  
  
Clem hauled himself up, tipped out the bucket of ice-water William had asked him to bring along. He shook his head uncertainly,  
  
"And what was the point of all this again? I mean you did explain to me but...."  
  
His friend shouldered the bag, gave him a gentle slap on the back,  
  
"It's called closure, mate. One of things you need before you can move on...you know, with your life, with someone else?"  
  
He made his way to the door, opened it a crack to check that she had really gone,  
  
"And that was...what just happened?"  
  
God sometimes, for a thick-skinned demon? He could be a trifle...thick- skinned.  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Only...I mean...it seemed to me...that she was saying...I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't she say she was....in love with...you know...Spike?"  
  
His friend frowned with exasperation. Was he really this dense?  
  
"I am Spike, Clem. But I'm William too. That's the whole point."  
  
And with a smile he turned, headed out into the darkness, just as Buffy had done a minute before. Turned left onto Roseland, heading back towards the Ramada. Probably a good idea to get a good's night sleep tonight. Try to look his best. After all, he was expecting a visitor tomorrow. 


	13. Signs (Buffy, Dawn, William, Willow, Xan...

13.

This morning felt different.

She stretched herself slowly, luxuriously, between the clean white cotton sheets. The sun was already pretty high she could tell. Must be at least nine. She rolled on her right side, tucked her elbow under her pillow, brought her knees up. Downstairs she could hear the familiar rattles and bangs that announced Dawn's preparation for her traditional Saturday Waffle Fest, followed by a few slightly off-key notes. She was happy. So good to hear.

She closed her eyes again, let the sunlight warm her face. Yes, today was different, she could feel it. The same sort of feeling she used to get the first morning of summer vacation or just before one of her Dad's road trips. Excited, filled with happy expectation of the day ahead. She frowned, let her eyelid open a chink. So what was it?

An alarmingly loud bang and a squeak of alarm from the kitchen forced her out of bed and into her jeans and a t-shirt. Padding down the stairs, she picked up the mail, bills, bills...a handwritten letter? Pocketed it as she heard another bang, Dawn squeal again,

"Dawn? What the heck are you making in there? Semtex?"

She rounded the kitchen door to see the miraculous Key desperately trying to lever a mess of charred batter and what looked suspiciously like hot jam from their newly acquired waffle iron.

"I tried to make them with fresh strawberries, but they kinda...exploded?"

Her sister pursed her lips, managed to suppress a smile.

"Tell you what, how 'bout I take you out to breakfast today!"

She didn't need to ask twice. Dawn racing for their coats, at the door in a second.

"We could call for Xander and Anya?"

She pulled on her jean jacket as Buffy locked the door. They walked out into the hazy summer morning.

"He said they had to be somewhere this morning." she shrugged, "Probably baby stuff. Picking out little Xander-shaped babygrows."

She looped an arm through her sister's,

"Besides, I fancy a bit of alone time with my Dawnie."

They set off towards town, letting the yellow warmth wash their faces, laughed and chattered over nothing, everything, stopping occasionally to pet a stray dog, say hi to one of Dawn's friends and as they neared the Expresso, talk turned to food, specifically the Pump's famous Iron Horse Breakfast. They seated themselves in the open, loathe to give up the miraculous sun for shade, ordered the works.

Dawn squinted at her over the top of her sunglasses, smoothed her napkin out with a sly grin.

"So you haven't really told me...what's going on yet...have you?"

Her sister pushed her golden curls back with one hand,

"We can do whatever you want...movie...go to the mall?"

Dawn gave her the withering look, the one that she obviously practiced in front of mirrors.

"You know what I'm talking about Buffy! You've been avoiding the subject for days!"

"Umm Hmm?"

She picked up the menu, used it to hide her expression. Dawn reached over, pulled it down.

"You and William?" she pronounced his name carefully, emphasising the syllables, "You're all like...nothings happening."

"Nothing is happening." she put on her own sunglasses, turned to look at the street.

Dawn groaned,

"But something did happen. I saw you Buffy!"

She felt her face begin to colour up,

"You said that you didn't see a thing!"

"I might not have seen...a thing," she backtracked, hurriedly, "But I saw enough to know...that you guys weren't in your bedroom reading poetry to each other."

Buffy felt the start of a smile, managed to disguise it with a cough. She looked over at her sister, so full of curiosity but also concern. She was right, she should let her know what was going on. And she would if only she could figure it out for herself. She sighed, rested her elbows on the table.

"Dawn...it's complicated."

Her sister snorted, folded her arms,

"Complicated! Right! It's always 'complicated' when you don't want to tell me stuff."

"It's not stuff. Dawn, I've just been having a hard time with understanding it myself."

"What's to understand?"

God, she could be so infuriating sometimes.

"Feelings! Feelings are sometimes hard to understand!" she took a deep breath, let it out, "I mean...I care...I really care about him. Spike. I mean...William. But...there's stuff that...needs to be...understood."

She realised that she was starting to make the sort of sense that doesn't. Tried again.

"We have to sort of get to know each other again. Find out...what's the same and what's changed. Parts of him are still Spike...you know? The other parts...the William parts...I don't know about yet."

"You don't know yet what? If you like them or not?"

She frowned, took a sip of the coffee the waitress had just brought her.

"No. I do. Like them, I mean. It's just...strange."

Dawn shook her head,

"No. I think you're the one whose strange."

"Thanks."

"No, I mean it,"

Her little sister was serious now, cross even.

"Buffy, I really loved Spike, I still do, but I always knew there was a part of him we couldn't trust. He was always so funny and he treated me like a grown-up and I liked him for that, but part of me knew he wasn't like us, that there was something inside him that...was bad, that could hurt us, even though sometimes I forgot it."

She looked her then, understanding so much for a kid. She knew Buffy had forgotten too.

"And then he went away and you were sad...for so long. You thought I didn't notice but I did. Then one day...he's comes back and he's different. All the bad stuff is gone, there's just this nice guy...who loves you and who'll do anything for you, and who's everything you've ever wanted...pretty much. Your dream-come-true! And what do you say? It's complicated?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. God, and where had she got that from?

"Buffy, he loves you. You love him. What's so strange about that?"

She took a forkful of her eggs, popped them in her mouth with a flourish.

She was right. Her sixteen year old sister was right on the money. There wasn't anything complicated about it. She did love him. He was her perfect match. She frowned. What the hell had she been torturing herself about for the last three weeks? And it wasn't as if she didn't need someone, she'd been so long without a real boyfriend she'd almost considered buying herself an appliance in one of those slightly seedy adult- shops that Xander always seemed to be drawn too. The only thing that had stopped her was the thought of being seen by a creature from the underworld, news would travel pretty fast in the demon realm. She shuddered, it brought a whole new meaning to the moniker Mr Pointy. She looked over at and she looked back at her through a faceful of bacon,

"Maybe you're right. There's nothing really strange about it. Maybe, I'll just go over there and..."

Dawn's eyes widened at something over her shoulder. She got to her feet grinning, brushed herself down hurriedly,

"I'm just going to go...over there...and get myself some..er...ketchup," she was backing away now, still smirking, "But Buffy! Hold...that...thought!"

What the hell had gotten into her? She didn't even like ketchup. Followed her as she made for the other side of the counter, slid onto a stool next to some guy. She narrowed her eyes...oh, so that was it. See some cute guy and we ditch the un-cool sister?

"All right if I join you?"

Her head jerked round so fast her glasses fell off her nose, somehow he managed to catch them before the hit the sidewalk. Straightened up, slid them back onto her face. He looked, different today, which was sort of fitting and she squinted at him as he pulled the chair out, moved in next to her, smelling of soap and sunlight.

"Your hair...you've done something else to it?"

He quirked an eyebrow,

"You like it? Decided the natural look wasn't quite me, thought I'd go for something sort of in between."

He ruffled his streaky blondey-brown hair and she reached a hand, pushed a stray toffee curl back into place. Felt him move against her palm like a cat purring. She smiled,

"Yeah. It's nice. Sorta like a Half-Spike-Moca-Latte."

He caught her hand in his, curled his fingers around it.

"That suit you?"

Beautiful eyes searched her's and she felt her heart flip at the realisation that he was totally Spiking her! Leaned in for the softest of kisses, still taking it slow, breathed him in.

"Just right."

She let their hands drop to the table, felt his foot on her's, knee press warm against her leg as Dawn returned to them, all smiles and bouncing hair.

"Ketchup! I have the ketchup now!"

"Hey! Anyone wanna buy some prescription drugs?"

A familiar voice brought all three heads round, Buffy to her feet in a second.

"Will!"

A huge grin stretched Willow's face, her hair glowing scarlet, throwing her arms around her smiling friend, her adoptive sister, Xander and Anya standing a few feet behind, Xander holding her small hospital suitcase. He smiled,

"Sorry. She wanted it to be a surprise."

Willow unfurled a sheaf of documents, held them out at arms length for all to see,

"Willow Rosenberg, now officially sane! Thank you very much!"

She bounced in tandem with Dawn and Buffy, all three barely able to contain their excitement at Willow's impromptu freedom.

"Sit down! You gotta sit down!"

They bundled her into a seat, made room on one side for Xander, Anya sliding onto his lap.

"What'd ya want? It's on me!"

"God, do they still do the hot-fudge brownie sundaes? Every time I'd trip out on the medication...I'd always be dreamin' of them!"

Buffy hailed the waitress, ordered the hottest, brownest and fudgiest. Sat back to look at the people around the table, her people. Willow's face radiant with health and happiness, Xander's as he looked from at his pregnant girlfriend to his best-friend. Listened to Will tell how Gile's had finally convinced the doctors of her sanity over the telephone using something akin to a Jedi mind-trick.. Dawn's mad grin as she looked over at her sister, saw her fingers intertwined with William's on the table, his arm resting against hers. Perfect. Life was perfect.

The waitress dropped the bill on the table and her hand went to her pocket, automatically searching for her purse, closed over the letter she put there earlier. She pulled it out, glanced at the LA postmark, the unfamiliar handwriting.

"Whose that from?"

William raised an eyebrow,

"Not a rare communiquÃ© from the Pater?"

She shook her head, tore it open. Then as she started to read, her face drained of colour.

"What's happened pet?"

He prised it from her fingers, his eyes skimming down the page, leaping from one sentence to the next, felt his stomach drop to his boots.

"So who's it from? What is it?"

Dawn voice had the edge of teenage hysteria to it,

"Is it from Dad? Is he O.K?"

Buffy felt for William's hand, but it was gone, drawn back into his lap, his expression suddenly unreadable again.

"No, he's...it's fine Dawn. It's from Cordy."

"Cordelia?"

Xander's voice was incredulous, Willow's face said the same thing,

"Buffy? Why's she writing to you?"

She searched for William's eyes, but he'd turned away now, was staring up the street towards the station.

"She just wanted to give me a heads up. Angel's on his way here."

Why wouldn't he look at her? Didn't he know how much she needed him right now? Needed him to be strong for her, be her right arm. She felt her throat constrict, wondering what he must be feeling right now.

"Angel's coming here? Is there some kinda trouble?"

Buffy turned back to them, her friends, looked from one face to the next. Judging the moment, trying to distill Cordy's muddled, over-emotional syntax into a simple phrase.

"Angel's human. The Powers That Be...they changed him back."

**THE END OF 'DIVERSION'**  
(The story continues in the sequel 'Detour')


End file.
